


Stained Glass

by kurtsontop



Category: Glee
Genre: Blangst, Klaine, M/M, Stained Glass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 97,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurtsontop/pseuds/kurtsontop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been four years since Kurt and Blaine broke up. Blaine, traumatized by the abuse his father branded him with and still obsessed with the man who shattered his heart, has turned to drugs and selling his body. When Kurt re-enters his life with a new mission to restore him to the way he was, Blaine isn't so sure he's ready to be friends with the person who ruined his life. Warnings for self-harm, suicide, language, drug abuse. Blaine’s P.O.V. Kurt’s P.O.V is written by coffeebeanklaine (S&C/Tumblr)/TheyCantTouchUsOrWhatWeHave (FanFiction) titled Blades of Temptation. You can read it at one of those places or here under my account.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Cut Me Open And I Keep Bleeding Love

**Author's Note:**

> Me and my super awesome best friend have been writing a fic together that we started planning in Novemeber. This is only Blaine's POV, mind you! There's a complete other story in Kurt's POV written by my fabulous co-author titled Blades of Tempation that you can find over on Fanfiction (TheyCantTouchUsOrWhatWeHave), Scarves&Coffee, or Tumblr (coffeebeanklaine). Posting is every Sunday, enjoy!

_Trying hard not to hear, but they talk so loud._

_I know the goal is to keep me from falling._

_Nothing’s greater than the rush that comes with your embrace._

_But in this world of loneliness, I see your face._

**_You cut me open and I keep bleeding love._ **

 

“You’re high again, aren’t you?” Christian was giving him that look. That look he always gave Blaine when he was disappointed but didn’t want to show it. He was such a bad actor.

“Would the right answer be no? Because if it is, I would like to lock in that response.” Blaine gave a lethargic grin as he seated himself at the piano.

“Blaine...” Christian’s arms were crossed over his chest, leaning over the shorter man slightly.

“ I can still work. I didn’t take more than one shot... Okay that’s a lie, it was more like three. But I’m still sober, I swear.” He spread his fingers over the keys, pressing a few experimentally.

“You’ve been playing the same four songs the past three days and I can’t tell if I’m horribly depressed, or annoyed.” For a straight man, he was one  _hell_  of a Drama Queen. “And you’ve shown up ridiculously high off your ass each time and you keep stealing from the bar. Just because you think that the bartender is stupid enough –which she is  _not_ , by the way- not to notice you lifting things doesn’t make it any better.”

“You didn’t give me a set list so I’m just doing what comes naturally. You know, as an artist does.” Blaine touched a few more keys to finish off his warm up before launching into Against All Odds for the umpteenth time that week.

“Blaine, stop.” He looked up at his friend, fingers continuing to flit over the keys. “You need to go home and get some rest, preferably before you take from the bar and get drunk as well. Drugs and alcohol—“

“Don’t mix. Yeah, yeah, so I’ve been told.” Things would be so much damn easier if Christian didn’t give a fuck whether he died or not. Come to think of it, he probably didn’t, he just wouldn’t know where to hide the body and wouldn’t want a mess on his hands.

“I’m asking you to go home. Take the night off.”

“You see, I’d totally be willing if I didn’t need the money. So please, take your irritating pestering to someone who will actually listen because right now you’re falling on deaf ears.” Blaine turned back to the piano, eyes closing as he swayed slightly with the music.

“Play something else or go home.” And with that he walked away, off to harass the stupid bitch of a bartender who was probably only hired for her tits. He continued playing, Christian wouldn’t actually stop him. He needed him. Who else was going to play the piano? His song morphed into Teenage Dream, much to Christian’s feasible dismay. Music was for telling what you didn’t know how to talk about, right? Right. Therefore, Blaine would play whatever he damn well felt like playing.

 

About halfway through the night, Christian came back. “Go.” His voice was calm. Too calm. He was never calm. He was an overreacting dramatic prick.

“When my shift is up.”

“No, you’re leaving now. You’re fired, Blaine. Go home, rest up, do homework or  _something_.”

“You can’t just fire me.” Blaine stopped playing, pulling his hands from the keys as if the instrument were going to take off his fingers.

“I’m the manager, I can definitely just fire you.”

“Chris, I need this job, you know I do—“

“Blaine, I said go. Please. You’re attracting attention and I really wanted this to go quietly.” He almost looked sad, which was thoroughly disgusting because he wasn’t the one losing his fucking job now was he?

Blaine let out a humourless laugh, “Well fuck that. Maybe I’ll just get louder. Because I know how much you just  _dread_  looking like an asshole.” Blaine’s voice had increased in volume slightly as he slid off the piano bench. If Christian was going to fire him, than he would just play dirty.

“Please don’t do this now. You can yell and scream at me later, but not now.”

“I will yell and scream whenever I want to,  _Christian_. Because you see, you’re not my boss anymore. And I don’t give a rat’s  _ass_  how many customers you could lose. It doesn’t go into my pay, and you want to know why? Because I don’t  _have_  a pay.” Blaine leaned forward, a sardonic smile spreading over his face as people started to stare.

“Blaine.”

“Christian.”

“Stop being an asshole.”

“Maybe later.”

“God, what happened to you that made you so fucked up!?” Blaine went silent, arms curling around himself defensively as he took a step back, eyes flashing to the people watching their exchange. “What fucking happened to you that turned you into...  _This_? You’re always high, and if you’re not then you’re snapping at someone for being in your way or trying to talk to you. You have  _no_  friends at all, Blaine. I pay the entire rent because I thought that maybe you just needed some time to get your shit together and sort yourself out but it’s been  _two years_  and you haven’t even tried.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter what happened. What matters is that it happened and nothing is going to fix it so butt the hell out and go back to waiting tables.” He turned and left, shrugging on his worn leather coat as he shoved the glass doors open with such a force it was surprising that he didn’t end up shattering them. And it was fucking raining, how splendid. Blaine hunched his shoulders, staring at the sidewalk as he began his walk home.

Who did Christian think he was, shoving his way into Blaine’s head and bringing back shitty memories that he’d done his absolute best to lock away? Who the hell gave him the permission to make him hurt the way he hurt now. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. The rain quickly soaked through Blaine’s coat, drenching his hair and plastering curls against his forehead. His shoes were drenched the second he got out the door, more or less. The people of New York shuffled by, the sidewalk a sea of black umbrellas and writhing bodies eager to get places even at 11p.m. The never ending stream of yellow taxis littered the road, sirens filling his ears from not too far off. Probably another accident caused by some tourist.

Now that Christian had opened the vault of memories, Blaine didn’t know how to close it again. His mind was filled with things from the past. A love lost. A house that was never a home.

He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly and telling himself that he was having trouble breathing because of the freezing rain seeping through his clothes. Four more blocks. Four more blocks and he would be able to sit down and cut the pain out. He didn’t need memories. Memories hurt; they were things that happened in the past. And Blaine certainly wasn’t nostalgic.

 

_They were at their usual coffee shop seated across from each other. Blaine’s fingers curled around his coffee cup as Kurt took a sip of his mocha._

_“What happened this time?” Kurt made a vague gesture to the black eye Blaine was sporting, watching his boyfriend’s face._

_“Boxing accident?” Blaine nearly strangled himself at how much it sounded like a question. He was always so bad at lying to Kurt._

_“Blaine...”_

_“Kurt, stop. Please. It’s fine, it doesn’t matter. It’ll heal in a few days, it always does. Now, you’re leaving tomorrow and I’d rather not spend my last face-to-face conversation with my boyfriend talking about what may or may not have happened during a boxing accident,” Blaine tried to hold himself a little taller, plastering on his stage-smile._

_“We’ve talked enough about New York. This is really serious, Blaine. You_ need _to do something before it gets out of hand.” His voice was eerily calm. How could Kurt be so calm about this when Blaine felt as if his heart were going to beat out of his chest at any moment?_

_“I_ can’t _,” he whimpered, eyes squeezing shut so he didn’t have to watch the disappointment crossing over his partner’s face._

_“Your father is_ beating _you.”_

_“I know exactly what he’s doing! You really think that I don’t know that it’s not right? That I’m not scared to go home all the time because that’s all I have to go back to? I’m so_ scared _, Kurt.” Blaine sunk deeper into his chair, eyes dropping to the table._

_“Then do something about it.” Kurt reached across the space between them, fingers prying Blaine’s from his cup and holding onto his hand._

_“I can’t.”_

_“Yes, you can! You’re so much stronger than this Blaine, I know you are. Go to the police. Tell them what he’s doing to you.”_

_Blaine ripped his hand away as if he’d been burned, “I_ can’t _! Don’t you see that if I went to someone it would just make it so much worse? Where would I go? My mom ran away the same way you’re telling me to. Except I will have_ nobody _. Who am I going to go to? You’re leaving for New York tomorrow and as much as you say your father likes me, I doubt he’d want to take me in. And I don’t want to live with some stranger. It’s not as easy as you make it seem.”_

_“So help me understand. Why is running away so bad? Why is getting help so bad? He’s_ hurting _you, for god’s sake!”_

_“He’s my dad, Kurt!” Blaine stood up from his chair, pulling his bag on his shoulder. “He’s all I have left! Mom’s gone. You’re leaving. Nobody else cares. He’s the only person who still loves me. He looks after me, and sure sometimes he gets stressed out, but he always apologizes. It’s like if your dad were to beat you. Your mom is gone and he’s all you really have left. If he hit you, would you turn him in? Would you lose the one person that matters the most just because sometimes he has a temper?” Blaine turned on his heel, starting towards the door._

_“Blaine, stop, please just listen to me! It’s not the same. He’s been hurting you since you were nine years old, do you really think that’s okay? Your mom would’ve taken you with her if she could’ve, but—“_

_“No, Kurt, she wouldn’t have! Because my mother, contrary to your belief, really doesn’t give a_ damn _about me!” He shoved open the doors to the coffee shop, trying to ignore Kurt’s footsteps chasing after him all the way to his car._

_“You’re being unreasonable.”_

_“Oh,_ I’m _being unreasonable?” He choked out a laugh, arms spread out at his sides. “How the_ fuck _—“ Kurt took a slight step back at the swear “—am I being unreasonable? You just don’t get it. And you never will.” He dropped his bag to the pavement beside the car as he unlocked the door._

_“That’s not fair and you know it.”_

_“What’s unfair? That my father hits me and I can’t do a thing about it? Or that I have a boyfriend who is leaving me alone with that…that monster?”_

_“Courage, Blaine.”_

_“Excuse me?” He turned back to Kurt who was standing with his arms crossed tightly over his chest._

_“You’re a hypocrite. How can you tell me to be ‘courageous’, to ‘stand up in the face of my demons’, but then you run away from yours like a goddamn coward?” his voice was back to that menacingly calm tone._

_“This is nowhere close to the same thing!”_

_“You know what? Fine. Have it your way. I tried to understand, I tried to help you, but how am I supposed to do that if you won’t let me in? I’m going to New York tomorrow, Blaine, I can’t be held back by somebody who tells people to do one thing but then won’t follow through on his own advice. That’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to you. I love you, you know that. But I just can’t do this anymore.” And then he was gone, striding across the parking lot with shoulders hunched. And Blaine didn’t know how to feel anymore._

Blaine shoved open the door to the apartment, trying to tell himself that the trails of water over his face were from the rain. That no matter how salty it tasted, he definitely wasn’t crying. His nose was running because he was getting sick. That was the only option.  

Blaine shrugged off his coat as the steel door slammed shut behind him and he reached back to lock the deadbolt. He kicked off his shoes as he went, drenched socked feet leaving wet footprints across the carpet. His jeans came next, the sodden denim heavy on his hips as they came off nearly of their own accord. The red polo he’d chosen to wear was as good as ruined anyway as he ripped the cotton blend over his head. Blaine threw open the door to his bedroom, nearly tripping himself in the haste to remove socks and grab the shoebox from under his bed.

Blaine sat on the edge of the bed, fingers pushing around the shards of battered and worn once transparent glass; rims tinged an ungodly crimson, as he searched for a piece where the edges weren’t too dull. Blaine reached into his nightstand with the suitable sliver clenched in his teeth, fingers finding purchase on his syringe.

 

There was a certain peace that came with drugs. The feeling of floating was certainly a major plus. His eyes were a little blurry, but whether it was from the heroin or tears, he couldn’t tell. Blaine dragged the shard of glass over his forearm once more, four perfectly spaced, even strokes against his skin. One for each year he was left without Kurt. Each year he was left alone to try and make it by himself.

The first stroke had been a little messy, the line shivering in a few places after starting off clean; just like the year had. That year that Kurt had left because he wasn’t strong enough.

The second was a little less orderly, more shaky and uneven. The year after Kurt had left and when all this had started. When he got into drugs and began cutting himself with shards of the glass heart he’d got as a gift for Kurt and inevitably smashed.

The third contained a little less weaving; starting with a bit of a wobble and evening out gradually over the length of the cut. The third year he was alone. Blaine started college at his grandfather’s insistence and bribery of paying for all school expenses. It was also a way to escape his father. Things had started to get better that year. He was still into drugs, and still occasionally hurt himself to stave off the pain of another day, but things were better.

He let his eyes follow the lines, the rich crimson of the blood dripping off his fingers reminding him of red and yellow roses, warm, kind, sweet, loving blue-green eyes. Home. Blaine bit into his tongue and let out a little pained noise at the memories he wished would finally get out of his head.

The fourth was perfectly smooth, starting strong just like the fourth year. He’d moved on. He’d fucked countless men, got a job, found a place to stay where he didn’t have to hide practically everything he owned.

But at the end of the gouge, the wobble was back. 


	2. I'm A Broken Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titles of the chapters are what's in the bold for song lyrics. The lyrics aren't in order because we mashed them up a little. Chapter one was from Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis and this one is Runaway by Maroon 5. In case you were interested!

_And it breaks me down when I see your face,_

_You look so different but you feel the same._

_And I do not understand, I cannot comprehend,_

_The chills your body sends, why did it have to end?_

**_I'm a broken man._ **

 

Blaine had eventually gotten himself to the kitchen. How he made it there was anybody's guess. He'd changed out of his soaked boxers and into a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt with so many tears and holes it was surprising that it was still in one piece. He'd seated himself at the island, new bag of Doritos in hand as he let his injured arm rest limply on the counter. It didn't hurt, not really. But come to think of it, nothing really hurt anymore. Except the things in his head. It was annoying to move. His head was fuzzy and every once and awhile he would start laughing for absolutely no reason. He felt good.

 

It was around 3a.m. that the door to their apartment opened and Christian stepped in. He shrugged off his coat while throwing his keys in the bowl by the door. Blaine gave him a grin, stuffing another handful of chips into his mouth.

Christian gave him a cautious smile as he came into the kitchen –what was there to be cautious about? Blaine was  _so_  happy right now- before he let out a startled noise as his eyes fell on Blaine's forearm. "Blaine! What the hell did you do?" His roommate was at his side so quickly that Blaine started giggling again. Wow, he was like a superhero he was so fast.

"There was a very vicious cat in the alley way," he slurred around chuckles.

"Blaine."

"There was this one hooker who was one  _hell_  of a cougar. Kitty had claws."

Christian's arms crossed over his chest and he lifted an eyebrow, "Blaine.."

"Wolverine got me."

His friend paused, eyebrows drawing together slightly, "Wolverine has three claws.."

"Okay, whatever. It doesn't matter." Blaine went back to smiling at his chips as if they were the best things in the world; which they totally were.

"I'll be right back." And with that Christian disappeared down the hallway, leaving Blaine to snicker at his chips and bad jokes that he muttered to himself.

 

Christian returned a short time later, first aid kit in hand. "Blaine, will you sit still, damn it!"

"It tickles!"

"Blaine!"

"Fine, sorry." He slouched into his chair, pout washing over his face as he held out the arm for his roommate obediently and let him wrap it.

"How high are you?"

"I'm not. I'm just  _so_  happy. I haven't been happy in a super duper long time." Blaine gave Christian a grin as he swayed in his seat slightly, drawing out the 'o' in 'long'.

"Blaine, you're high as a kite. You hurt yourself again, didn't you?" Christian's voice was sad, but it was as if he already knew. Of course he knew, it wasn't something that wasn't obvious.

Blaine's eyes dropped to the marble-top in front of him, unable to look up and see the disappointment swimming on his friend's face. "Doesn't matter..." He wrung his fingers, idly picking at the edge of the bandage.

"Please tell me what happened. This isn't my fault, is it?" Christian reached out to touch Blaine's arm, hand hesitating before resting fingertips against his bicep.

"No. No, it's not your fault. It's fine, I'm okay." Blaine looked up, giving his roommate a broad grin that never touched his eyes. He hoped Christian wouldn't notice but as always, he had no such luck.

"It is. It's because of what I said."

"Well stop fucking grazing the surface and ask what you want to know if you're so damn interested." Blaine slid off his chair, stumbling on unsteady feet to the couch. Christian followed, and he wanted nothing more than to rip out his own hair.

"What happened? What did this to you?" Christian sat beside him, hands folded in his lap. He was quiet. Whenever he was quiet it meant that he was honestly engrossed in the subject. Why the fuck did he even have to care? It was easier when what he did didn't matter. It was the way it was supposed to be, he wasn't supposed to be anything to anybody.

Blaine tried to stop himself, he did. But he couldn't help the little word that fell from his lips, "Who."

Christian leaned forward, fingers reaching out to touch Blaine's knee. "Who did this to you?"

The name was foreign on his tongue. He didn't know how to say it. Blaine twisted his hands together, mouth opening without sound. Memories of a warm smile, eyes the colour of the ocean, a cerulean mixture of the stars, a laugh like rich bells; lips the colour of pale roses, skin a smooth plain of alabaster. Chestnut hair coifed up with such precision it was like rocket science, eyebrows carefully sculpted. Cheeks that tinged pink with compliments, a shy smile, a gaze that felt like home. Warm, familiar arms and the scent of coconut and mangos.

"K-Kurt," he choked on the name, face crumpling as his eyes welled up with tears that had remained unshed for years. He looked up at his friend, eyebrows drawn together in pain as a single bead of liquid rolled off his eyelashes.

"Oh, Blaine." Christian moved toward him before he had a chance to protest, arms circling his shoulders and pulling Blaine up against his chest. Blaine's fingers curled around the collar of Christian's black work polo as a sob burst from his lips. Soothing hands rubbed up and down his back as he cried harder, one fist thumping dully against his roommate's chest a few times with the wail of a man bearing a broken soul.

 

The tears kept coming, rivers of sorrow streaming over his cheeks and seeping into the material of his friend's shirt. He felt like he'd been crying forever. Years of pent up sadness all bubbling to the surface and boiling over. He'd fucked up.  _He_  was fucked up. Everything was _fucked up_. Christian's hand was still warm on his shoulder blade, the other petting over the back of his head and neck; fingertips running through his hair. There were times when Blaine thought the tears were subsiding only for them to come back with twice their vigour. He was shaking, face tucked against Christian's throat as his breath stuttered and caught. Every time he had almost calmed down, flashes of blue eyes and a warm smile wrenched him back into the never-ending abyss of agony.

His head was positively throbbing, and he felt that if he opened his eyes the tears would burn more than they already were. His knuckles were white and aching, nails biting into his palms even through the shirt collar clutched in his hands. He couldn't let go, if he let go he would fall.

Memories of Kurt holding him this same way invaded his mind. When Blaine had run to him after his dad had shoved him into the bookcase and left hideous purple-green splotches up the planes of his back. When he told Kurt for the first time that his father beat him up almost daily, and that was the reason that he had boarded at Dalton. He'd started crying and hadn't stopped. Kurt cried with him, wrapping him in his arms the way Christian was now. He'd pressed a kiss into Blaine's hair, whispering promises that he'd never leave him alone.

Blaine let out another sob, moving his arms to snake around Christian's waist and clutch him closer. Instead, he was here; all but screaming –he had been earlier- into the chest of the only person that he could call a friend. The reassurances murmured against his curls just brought on more waves of tears, and he sobbed himself into unconsciousness.

 

He had a fitful sleep. He dreamt of Kurt, of course he did. There was never a night that he didn't. Some nights were different. Sometimes he dreamt of their breakup, which was the easier to handle. He asked himself how that was 'easy' to deal with every time he screamed himself awake. How was watching the love of your life, your  _soul mate_ , walk away from you am easy thing?

But other nights he had nightmares. Honest to God terrors from hell. Dreams that felt so real that it took everything in him, every ounce of his existence not to do something horribly rash and thoughtless. And it wasn't as if these dreams were bad; that was the worst part. Vivid reruns of the happy times they had together. Their first time, their first kiss, their first Christmas, the promise ring. They were all on a sadistic tape, replaying over, and over, and over again until Blaine felt like he was going insane. He probably was.

Tonight however, was different. Tonight was quiet, too quiet. Blaine never went a night without dreaming. Ever. He'd suffered horrible insomnia for a long time just trying to escape the reality of his mind. It had never worked. Eventually he'd passed out from sheer exhaustion.

But right now.. He was walking in circles in a room without light. He couldn't feel the floor beneath him, he couldn't see his hands. He couldn't  _feel_. He was floating. Free falling was probably a better term. And then he wasn't. A staircase.  _The_  staircase. He felt like he needed to be somewhere. Blaine hurried down the steps, checking the pocket watch that hadn't worked for a long time like routine.

"Excuse me?"

Blaine fell down the stairs, and before he hit his head he was floating again. He heard a scream, voice cracked with so much pain and agony that he felt as if his heart was breaking. Flashes of a glass heart shattering against a brick wall. And then he was on the ground, clutching at his eye. He was cold, so cold. And there was an ever-repeating mantra of his name in  _that_  voice, a warm hand at his hip. His eye burned for a reason he didn't have the heart to place.

His vision flashed red and he was against the wall of his father's study, firm hands holding him against the plaster. He was so confused. Why here? Why now? Hadn't he got away? The hands moved and he was falling again. To a bed.

Soft fingers clutched at his hips, a tongue working over his Adam's apple in such a practiced ease that it could only come from experience. He heard himself let out a moan, feeling his fingers tighten in his invisible lover's hair.

" _Kurt_."

He was holding the hand of the boy he finally realized that he loved. God, Blaine. You can be so dense sometimes.

"You move me, Kurt. And this duet would just be an excuse to spend more time with you..." He felt himself leaning forward and then he was engulfed in a pair of arms, and the smell of coconut and mango hit his nose.

"Our first Christmas together."

Black. Everything was black and Blaine didn't understand. How did things end up this way? Why did they? Could he have done something differently? For the first time, he didn't yell himself awake. And he knew he wouldn't remember this come morning.

 

Blaine woke up with a throbbing headache, eyes that stung, and he couldn't feel his arms. There was a blanket draped over his legs and he was on the couch. He moved his arm to cover his eyes, the bandage tugging slightly and reminding him that last night wasn't just a terrible nightmare. "Close the fucking curtains before my head explodes." His voice was like gravel, dragging over his vocal chords in the most excruciating way. He heard his friend's footsteps on the hardwood as he strode past, the breeze that followed making Blaine's stomach churn. The room darkened considerably as the curtains were dragged closed with a noise that sounded like marbles in his head.

"I'm making breakfast." At least he had the sense to whisper. "Do you want an omelet? Something easy to swallow? Because no offense but your voice sounds like shit so I'm going to assume that your throat hurts." When Blaine moved his arm Christian stood over him, a tentative smile touching his lips.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." He rolled onto his side at a pace that was embarrassingly slow, biting back a groan of pain as his head pounded its protest. His roommate hovered a moment longer, watching to make sure that he wasn't going to drop dead before he made his way back to the kitchen. A glass of water and three Tylenol lay on the coffee table in the oddest arrangement; two off to the side and one standing alone. Christian was like fucking Mama Goose when it came to Blaine, even if he did have the strangest tendencies. He braced himself on an arm, pushing into a sitting position weakly as the blanket slid to the floor. The room spun and he felt sick, wrapping his arm around his stomach as he squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck.

"Are you okay?" Christian's voice called to him from the kitchen and when Blaine turned he was watching him sway on the cushions, worry creasing his brow as he flipped the omelet without looking. Fucking bastard.

 

"Yeah, yeah fine. I just.. Bathroom." He pulled himself off the couch, holding a hand to his head as the wall decorations tinged a sickly colour.

"So who was this... Kurt guy, anyways?" Christian had turned back to the stove, his voice carrying an almost teasing lilt. Blaine froze halfway down the hallway, fingers curling into fists at his sides as he sucked in a slow breath.

"A memory."

"Want me to beat him up or something?" Blaine knew he was joking, he really did. Somewhere he knew he didn't mean it. But that didn't mean that he didn't snap.

"If you ever fucking touch him I will kill you." And the bathroom door slammed shut with such a force that the walls rattled.


	3. No One Really Knows If He's Drunk Or If He's Stoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Bad Girlfriend by Theory of a Deadman, but we switched the gender, obviously. Always remember to read Kurt's POV because this half is really nothing without its counterpart.

_Come together, leave alone,_

_See you later back at home._

**_No one really knows if he's drunk or if he's stoned_ ** _._

_But does it make it wrong to have the time of his life?_

 

Christian wouldn't stop knocking on the fucking door. "Blaine, please, you know I didn't mean it." The wall was such a lovely cream colour; legs that went on forever, a smooth milky abdomen. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a tight breath through his nose. Why why why why? He was cross-legged on the floor leaning back against his bed. His ass kind of hurt but that was to be expected considering he'd been sitting around for nearly three hours. What the fuck was he even doing? He hated this. He hated what was in his head. He wished that he could just bleach his fucking brain.

"Blaine, just come out so we can talk about this."  _Why wouldn't he go away?_  Maybe Blaine would just slit his throat. He could sit by the door so that Christian would be able to see the blood, so that he could  _watch_. Except unfortunately he was too much of a coward and he definitely wasn't a sadist.

Blaine let his head fall back to rest against the edge of the mattress. The only question he had was why. And it was a question that would probably never be answered. Why wasn't he stronger? Why hadn't he followed Kurt? How had he let him just walk away like that? He never even fucking  _tried_.

"Blai—"

"Christian, if you don't shut the fuck up and go the fuck away I swear to God I'll throw myself out this damn window." He heard a noise from the other side of the door before footsteps retreated down the hallway. Blaine closed his eyes, fingers clenching against his thighs into the material of his sweats.

 

_"Hey no, come back." Blaine's fingers reached for his boyfriend, lower lip pushing out in that half-pout he always used to get what he wanted._

_"I'm cold and naked and sticky and disgusting and I need a shower." He could hear the panic in Kurt's voice, a rich scarlet spreading up the back of his neck and over his shoulders._

_"Kurt, please come back." His fingers were still twitching in the air between them, pleading. He watched as Kurt sat back on the edge of the bed. "Please come lay with me? Just for a little while?"He watched at his boyfriend turned slightly, throwing a meager glance at Blaine._

_"Okay." Kurt turned, quickly slipping under the bed sheet as he made his way back to Blaine. There was a rosy flush over Kurt's cheeks and across the bridge of his nose, creeping down his throat and over the top of his chest._

_"You're so beautiful, please always remember that." Blaine reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off Kurt's forehead as he leaned over the shorter boy. The older boy paused a second, a slow smile taking over his lips as his face seemed to grow an even deeper shade of red._

_"You're not so bad yourself." Blaine let out an 'oof' noise as Kurt dropped himself onto his partner's chest with a contented hum. "I love you."_

_Blaine's breath hitched, tears blurring his vision, "I love you, too. More than anything."_

 

And it was still fucking true. He was still in love with a man who didn't want him. Who up and left just like everybody else did. Blaine rolled his head against the edge of the bed, eyes opening to look at the wooden box that had migrated to his dresser. His hands loosened on his thighs, fingers opening slowly. He wished he could fix it. He just wanted to see him. Even if it was from a distance. Was he happy? Did he find a new boyfriend who would treat him right and have the courage to look after them both? Did he graduate from NYADA yet? God, what year was it even? Did he miss Blaine? Did he think about him as much as the vise-versa? What if he hated him? What if he ended up the way Blaine was now? Miserable and lost and  _alone_.

But no, definitely not. He was much stronger than that. He wouldn't let some silly, stupid boy ruin his whole life. Because Kurt wasn't like that. He was so much stronger and he as so brave and he'd have looked after himself if nobody else would. He was a fighter.

 

_"I'm so disappointed, Blaine. You know that I just want you to be happy and successful." The sheer disgust painted over his father's face broke Blaine's heart. He didn't ask for this._

_"But I_ am _happy. He makes me so happy and he makes me want to succeed and follow my dreams and_ live _." Blaine's fingers twisted together as he tried to fight the smile off his face. Now was apparently not the time to appear love-struck._

_"He's a_ boy _, you're a_ boy _. That is positively_ revolting _and you damn well know it." He watched as his father's eyes narrowed considerably before he made a feeble attempt to school his expression._

_"I like_ boys _, dad. Just because you want me to go out and fuck some girl—"_

_"Watch your language, young man."_

_"I'm sure you'd be all sunshine and rainbows if I got her pregnant, but as soon as I want to kiss a boy the gates of Hell open up."_

_"Bla—"_

_"No, I won't be.. held back by you! You always talk about wanting to let me live my life and yet here I am in_ shackles _, And I'm so fucking tired of you pushing me arou—" Blaine's back collided with the bookcase, wooden shelf breaking with the impact and books fell with him as he hit the floor. Exhibit A._

_"Learn where your place is." His father's eyes were cold, harsh blue that was like ice cutting at his heart._

_"I know where my place is," Blaine's vision clouded as he pulled himself up, "and it definitely isn't here."_

_And then he was driving, tears wetting his cheeks as he tried to keep it together. Tried to keep on the road and not get in an accident because he needed to get to Kurt. He needed to be okay. And he needed to stop fucking crying._

 

Blaine clenched his jaw, hand lifting to run through his hair sub-consciously. He needed to sleep.

"Blaine..."

"Go away." He pulled himself off the floor, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as the room tilted and his back protested.

"I'm just really sorry, okay? I don't know how much he meant to you, but I have a pretty good idea and I'm just so sorry."

Blaine tugged off his shirt, tossing it to the laundry hamper in the corner. "It's fine. Just leave me alone, please." He dropped down on the edge of the bed, fingertips rubbing against his temples. His head still fucking hurt.

"I brought you food. And pain medicine. And orange juice."

"I just fucking sat down.." He let out a groan, tipping himself off the mattress once more and wobbling towards the door where he flicked open the lock before returning to his place. "It's open."

Christian pushed open the door with his toe, shuffling his way into the room with a tray of food, eyes staying on the carpet as he set it on Blaine's dresser. He turned to face the shorter boy, who'd sprawled himself across his bed, supine and staring unseeingly at the off-white stucco ceiling.

"Did you want something?" Blaine's eyes moved to rest on his roommate, taking in his almost expectant expression with disdain.

"I just.."

"Get out, before I find some way to maim you without moving." His gaze flicked back to the roof, fingers toying with the bed sheet he was on top of. And Christian was gone, door closing behind him with a faint click.

 

Blaine woke up around 7p.m, twitching and literally  _aching_  to just get out and do something. The tray Christian had brought still lay untouched. To be honest, he just felt like getting  _really_  drunk. Blaine shoved open his bedroom door, stumbling his way to the bathroom on feet that felt pitifully uncoordinated.

"Blaine?" Christian's voice echoed down the hallway, tentative steps against the hardwood.

"Why the hell are you even still here? Don't you have, y'know, a  _job_  to be at?" Blaine braced his hands on the sink, leaning forward to look at himself in the mirror. Man, he looked like shit. Not like that was anything new.

"I took tonight off; I wanted to make sure that you were okay."

"I don't need a fucking babysitter, Christian." He pushed away from the porcelain, shoulder knocking into his roommate's as he retreated to his room to get changed.

"You can't threaten to kill yourself and then expect me to just leave you here alone." He was leaning against Blaine's doorframe, seeming unfazed as the shorter man yanked off his sweats and began rummaging through his dresser in his briefs.

"I'm going out." Blaine kept his eyes trained on his clothing as he dug out a pair of tattered dark wash skinny jeans.

"What? Where?" Christian seemed taken aback, eyes wide as he took a step into the room.

"Out. I'll go get drunk and fuck some guy and forget about Kurt for awhile until I wake up and have to remember him all over again." Blaine slammed the drawer closed with a shove, grabbing the articles of clothing he'd decided on before heading back to the bathroom.

"Blaine, running away isn't going to solve anything."  _Oh my fucking God_. Why couldn't he just get that maybe Blaine didn't want to solve things anymore? He would just let things run their course and be the deplorable pawn.

"Fuck off." He slammed the door, dropping his clothing on the toilet lid as he shucked his underwear and turned on the shower.

"I just want to help you." Blaine stepped in the tub, dragging the glass partition shut.

"I don't need help." He slid under the stream of hot water, letting out a breathy sigh that bordered on a moan as his body relaxed instantly under the spray. Showers were good. He should have more showers. Blaine ran a hand through his hair, sopping curls falling over his forehead and dripping water into his eyes. He grabbed his body wash off the rack along with the loofah and set to work on scrubbing himself down.

"Just because you don't want it, doesn't mean you don't need it."

Blaine let out a high moan edging pornographic as his palm thumped against the wall for effect and he tossed his head back, "Oh shit, that feels so fucking good. I can't wait to have a pretty mouth stretched around my aching dick." He grinned to himself as footsteps quickly retreated down the hallway. Christian wasn't homophobic by any means, but as soon as it came to the practice of such, he stayed his distance.

Blaine continued with his shower, massaging his fingers through his hair and nearly purring as the ache caused by wayward curls was washed away with the shampoo. He would go out, get drunk, meet some guy, fuck him into the mattress, and then kick him out. Routine. Christian would complain the next morning, as he always did. He would bitch and moan about how 'at least one of us is getting laid but  _please_  keep it down or buy me a pair of really good ear plugs.' Blaine did neither. He finished washing and stepped out of the shower, rubbing the towel through his hair.

Tonight was going to be  _his_  night.

 

The club always held a distinctive odour. It wasn't unpleasant, per say, but it was a constant smell so strong you could almost taste it. Smoke hung heavy in the air, lights from the dance floor transferring with a ghostly hue. But it was a safe place, somewhere Blaine knew he could breathe. He knew all the dancers – strippers, but whatever – and after he'd given the manager 'the best blowjob in his life' he got all his drinks for free. Being there felt like he was home. He was accepted and  _wanted_ , eyes roving over his body as he made his way to the bar, despite nine o'clock being fairly early. Even though he mostly made a complete fool of himself, he felt  _good_. He slid into a barstool just as his drink was slid across the counter. It also felt great to know people.

"Blainey! Haven't seen you around in awhile. Where you been, buddy?" Jack was the tall, dark, and handsome type. Shoulders that were just a touch on the broader side, tapering into a trim waist and legs that seemed miles long. He was a sight for sore eyes.

Blaine couldn't help the grin that peeled across his face as the taller man all but threw himself in his lap. "Around."

"You're so fucking lame. Come around more. We all miss you." Jack tucked his face against Blaine's throat, pressing a hot and open-mouthed kiss there before pulling away and nearly falling off Blaine's thighs with an excited bounce. "Come dance!"

He curled his arm around Jack's waist, finger tapping at his glass as he raised an eyebrow, "Can I finish this drink first? I want to be completely smashed by the end of the night."

The other man made an exasperated noise, tossing his head back in mock-frustration before giving Blaine the look of a man with a plan. "That can be arranged," he said as he slid out of Blaine's half-embrace, giving his shoulders a little shimmy as he disappeared into the crowd. Blaine downed his drink at an alarming rate that should have been rather impressive considering the size of the glass before spinning around on the stool and following in the direction that Jack had headed.

A solid body pressed up against his back, fingers gripping tight at his hips before sliding around to press against his stomach and a chin hooked over his shoulder. "You're so damn tense; you really need to loosen up." Jack's breath was warm against his ear, tongue flicking out to graze the shell.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Blaine let his friend grind against him, pushing his ass back slightly and rocking his hips with the music.

"Please come around more. Mikey misses you. He never stops talking about you."

"I have school." Blaine's head fell back on Jack's shoulder, arms coming up to thread his fingers into the other man's hair.

"Oh please, you rarely go. And I heard you got fired, so that frees up a lot of your time." Jack's hands slid south, fingertips playing at Blaine's belt buckle.

"We'll see." Blaine spun in the taller man's arms, hands resting on his shoulders.

"So, how drunk are we getting you?" Jack gave a salacious grin, one hand sliding down to cup Blaine's ass through his jeans as it slid into his back pocket.

"I don't know. I have some shit that needs forgetting." He pressed back into Jack's palm.

"So; shitfaced."

 

"I wanna live here. I'll just stay here forever and be an artist and just... make art." Blaine's feet slid out from under him as Jack's arms wound around his chest and boosted him onto the barstool.

"Good luck. God, how much have you had to drink?" Jack's mouth was at his ear, warm breath tickling against the shell and causing Blaine to start giggling.

"It's been like... four, or something." Blaine's hand came up to touch Jack's cheek. "Wow, you're so tall."

"Nah, you're just tiny as fuck." He leaned down to press a quick kiss to Blaine's lips, pulling back when the smaller man's tongue tried to slip into his mouth.

"Blaine!" His head snapped up at the sound of his name, grin spreading across his face as he slid off the stool. Michael bounded towards them, blond hair wet where it hung over his forehead. He greeted Blaine with his lips, hand slipping around the back of the dark haired man's neck where his fingers slid into curls.

"I've fucking missed you like hell."

"You mean your dick has missed me." Blaine gave him a smirk as his hands trailed down to rest on the slight man's hips.

"Ass too. Where have you even been? Joey was about ninety-eight percent sure that you were dead. His words, not mine." Michael's palms rubbed down over his shoulders slowly, fingertips pressing at Blaine's biceps.

"I  _had_  a job. And school. You all forget that unlike you sore losers, I have a life to attend to." Blaine's smile widened as the other man gave an exasperated huff.

" _This_  is my job," he wiggled his hips forward against Blaine's slightly.

"Speaking of which, when are you on? I've missed seeing you dance." Blaine pushed out his lower lip, fighting back a grin as Michael gave a little laugh.

"Soon, soon. All in good time, sir. I better go get prepared, I suppose. Need to dress to impress." He pressed a kiss to Blaine's nose as he shimmied away, hips twisting to the beat of the music as he headed for the back room.

"You're just going to take it all off anyways!" Blaine called after him, leaning against the bar and looking up at Jack.

"It's ridiculously awesome to have you back. Everyone else around here is boring as fuck, and they aren't even  _good_  fucks. I mean, that's my assumption because they're all such miserable kissers that I haven't even tried to take a man home in..." Jack's eyebrows scrunched together, "what day is it?"

"November 20th. It's a Sunday." Blaine smiled at his friend's obvious mental math, chuckling at the concentration painted across his face.

"It's been thirteen days. Blaine, I haven't gotten laid in  _thirteen days_." His expression washed over with horror. "Am I losing my touch? What if  _I'm_  the miserable kisser?" Jack's hands found Blaine's arms. "What if I never have a good bang ever again?"

Blaine let out a high laugh, eyes crinkling as he brought a hand up to cover his mouth. "You're overreacting. You'll find someone worthy. And if you don't, I'll fuck you myself." A slow smile pulled its way across Jack's face. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's a very sexy stripper in leather making an appearance at this very moment in time and I wish to acquaint my tongue with the backs of his teeth." Blaine gave the taller man a wink, sliding away from the counter and heading to where Michael had been introduced.

He boosted himself up on the stage and sidled towards the other man. When he'd first started his attempts at getting onto the platform, management had interfered. But they'd soon learned that no matter what they did, he was always going to do it again. It wasn't as if he was starting fights, and according to the bar's reviews, the observers seemed to like the show. Michael turned towards him, wiggling his shoulders with a sly smile and beckoning Blaine with a 'come hither' motion.

Their mouths met immediately, one of Blaine's hands curling around the back of Michael's neck to hold him there as he twisted his head to the side. A few cheers drifted over the still pumping music and Blaine pressed his tongue into the other man's mouth. They moved together, Michael's fingers pressing and pulling at Blaine's hips with enough pressure to bruise as their mouths moved in tandem. He felt dizzy, drunk more off the pair of lips attached to his own than whatever amount of alcohol he'd consumed over the course of the night. He took a slight step back and he felt like he was floating. Floating until his head smacked against the pavement floor.

There was a shriek from someone and he opened his eyes slowly.  _What the fuck just happened?_  He had to have passed out. That was the only excuse for the pale face that loomed over him with chestnut hair that swooped off his forehead and cheeks tinged pink with inebriation. The only excuse for the startling blue eyes that left him alone in a parking lot late one afternoon.

"Whoa, how hard did I hit my head?" Blaine grinned up dopily at the look-alike.

"Blaine-" there it was, that voice that sounded like angels crying, "-you're still conscious."

"How are you even  _real_? How have we never met? Oh my God, you're so  _pretty_." Blaine reached his hand up to cup the other man's jaw, thumb petting at a cheekbone as a lethargic grin spread over his face.

"Jesus, you really hit your head, didn't you?" Concern spread over Mystery-Man's face and an arm came around Blaine's waist to help pull him off the floor. "Come on, let's go get some ice for that head." Blaine stumbled after the taller man as the support disappeared.

"Man, you have a  _great_  ass." In all honesty, he wanted to fuck him silly, and it was a tragedy that they hadn't met previously.

"Eyes on your own paper, shorty," the voice drifted to him from over the man's shoulder.

"Hey! I'm not short, I'm—"

"Fun-sized?" He quirked an eyebrow as they reached the bar, beckoning over the tender while Blaine wiggled his way onto a stool.

"How did you know what I was going to say? Are you a mind reader? Shit, I hope you aren't because I've been thinking about doing some positively sinful things to that behind of yours." Blaine let his eyes roam over the man's body shamelessly, lingering at the ring on his finger briefly before trailing down the length of his long,  _long_  legs.

"You've said it before," Pretty-Boy half-mumbled, reaching around Blaine's head to press the icepack there gently. "Hold."

For some unknown reason the words didn't quite register, eyes instead settling on the white gold ring. "I've always wanted to mess around with a married man." His voice dropped down to that gravelling tone, pupils dilating slightly as he looked back at the man's face, lecherous smirk stretching his lips.

Mystery-Man sputtered, looking away from Blaine with cheeks that coloured obviously, even in the dim lights of the bar. "We will be doing no 'messing around.'" It was nearly a sneer, hands wringing together in a way that seemed far too familiar.

"So," Blaine leaned forward slightly, "what's your name, oh married man? Because why else would you be here at a  _gay bar_  if you were perfectly happy with your husband?" A look crossed over the man's face. "Ooh, fiancé? What, did he propose and you said yes because he had a nice dick and now you're realizing that he doesn't know how to use it?"

"You know my name, Blaine." He looked up at him, bar lights shedding a pale blue limn over the apples of his cheeks.

 

_He was so fucking beautiful. Blaine had woken up in the middle of the night, treading down the hallway to use the bathroom and when he returned Kurt had rolled over in his sleep; face turned towards the window with curtains drawn and moonlight bathing him in soft whites and shadows._

_Blaine crawled back into bed carefully, propping his head up on a palm to watch his boyfriend sleep._ Is that creepy? I think it's creepy. _He looked so peaceful, so happy. His chest rose and fell with laboured breaths, eyes flickering behind closed lids and nose wrinkling up every so often. He was so very_ perfect.

 

Blaine was going to pass out. He was going to fall off his seat and knock himself unconscious and if he was lucky he'd kill himself in the process, or at least go comatose. His hands shook, icepack falling to the floor with a wet smack. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and he was going to die right fucking there. Blaine fought to suck in a breath, chest heaving as his heart gave a weak lurch. He was going to be sick.

Blaine pushed himself off the barstool, grabbing the counter for support as he looked back up at the man incredulously. Why here? Why now? Because for some reason the fucking Universe hated him. "Kurt..." He felt like throwing up, designer shoes be damned. "Why are you  _here_?" His voice wasn't half as steady as he was aiming for, teeth chattering together almost audibly as his legs shook.

"I could ask you the same question."

"Because this is what I  _do_. His is all I have, Kurt!" Something broke in the other man, face crumpling slightly.  _Yeah, it's okay, I know I'm a failure. I don't need reminding._

"You don't need to do... this, Blaine." There it was. That eerily calm voice again for fuck sake. "I'm so sorry that you're here, I'm sorry you're—"

"That I'm what? A fuck-up?" Because yes, Kurt, actually I do need to do this. But you wouldn't know, would you?" Blaine couldn't help the way his eyebrows scrunched together, eyes narrowing at the man in front of him.

"I'm so sorry, Blaine, I really am." Kurt reached up to run a hand through his hair and there was the ring again, glinting in the light as if mocking him.

"Wait. You're... Kurt please don't tell me you're married already. You're not thirty yet. You had  _plans_. What happened to graduating from NYADA? What happened to getting on Broadway and playing Angel in  _RENT_?" Blaine's fingers flexed against the wood, stomach twisting.

Kurt let out a dry laugh as if he were surprised that Blaine even remembered. "Plans change, Blaine. People change," his tone was so bitter, quickly snapping from calm to whatever  _this_  was.

The younger man sucked in a shivering breath, eyes clamping shut as he tried to make the room stop spinning. "I really hope he treats you right. Because if not, I'll break his fucking legs." Blaine shoved off the bar, dashing for the back exit as Kurt shouted after him.

There were too many people. Not enough air. He had to get away, had to escape before Kurt caught him. The walls took on a sickly colour, room tilting as he shoved the door open hard enough that he tripped into the alley and barely caught himself on the opposite wall. Everything was so tight. His clothes were constricting, the walls were closing in on him and he couldn't fucking  _breathe_.

He stumbled his way out of the corridor, fingers clutching at the brick as his eyes blurred. There was no way he was going to be able to get himself home. Blaine reached into his pocket, fumbling with his phone until hitting three on speed dial.

"Blaine?"

"Christian, I need you to come get me. I need you to come get me  _now_. I'm a little drunk and- I feel like I'm dying. Please, please come get me. I can't handle it if- Please—"

"Shut up. Oh my God, shut up. Where are you?" There was a loud noise on the other side of the line followed by the jingling of keys and a slamming door.

"Fuck. Fuck, I don't know. Somewhere on twenty-first. Starts with a 'B' I think." Blaine's knees gave out and he sunk to the concrete. "Please hurry."

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Breathe."

"I can't. Please don't hang up on me. I can't be alone. You were right, you're always right." He choked on the words, hot tears streaming down his face.

"Blaine, I'm on my way, okay? I won't hang up on you."

"Thank you, thank you. Oh God, thank you."


	4. A Song For A Heart So Big

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this one is a bit of a mouthful as a chapter. There's a brief mention of sexual assault accusations and minor teacher-student interaction. I'm recommending like none of this. This song is "Hear You Me" by Jimmy Eat World.

_I never said thank you for that,_

_now I'll never have a chance._

_And if you were with me tonight,_

_I'd sing to you just one more time._

_**A song for a heart so big**._

 

He woke up in bed, the alarm clocks glowing green numbers indicating that it was exactly 11:21 a.m. There was a navy blue wash bucket on the floor, glass of water and Tylenol on his nightstand. Christian deserved a fucking fruit basket or something. The stucco ceiling seemed to mock him, shadows created from the ridges swirling together in a way that couldn't be natural. Blaine was going to die. His stomach was on fire, twisting and churning while his head throbbed out its own drum beat. Everything ached and he was pretty sure if he rolled over he would die on the spot. Even his fucking fingers hurt.

Blaine clenched his teeth, sucking in a few preparatory breaths that did nothing but make him feel lightheaded before slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. He didn't need the pain medicine, no. He needed a distraction.

 

_The car was almost silent save for Blaine's stuttering breathing. He was curled up in the chair, seatbelt swaying slightly with the jolts of the vehicle from where it hung unused. Christian spared him worried glances, taking the risk of removing his eyes from the road and the ever moving –albeit slowly- traffic. Blaine's head thumped dully against the window frame as his finger slipped on the black button and he struggled to roll it down._

_Everything was too tight, too small. Blaine's eyes squeezed shut against the crisp night air that seeped through the crack in the window and tousled sweat-damp curls. The car stopped in front of their apartment a hell of a lot quicker than it should have taken to get home and Blaine couldn't get out fast enough; chest heaving and heart pounding as he staggered towards the ceiling high glass lobby doors._

_"Blaine! You're going to get yourself killed." Christian's hands found Blaine's shoulders and held him upright._

_"Maybe I want to die," he snapped back, wrenching himself out of Christian's hold and leaning heavily on the worn brass handles. "Not now. Please don't do this now. I need to breathe. Just go finish with the car, I'll be fine."_

 

Blaine's fingers slipped on the handle of his nightstand drawer, upper body tumbling forward as his palms struck the carpet. He was half-twisted off the bed, legs tangled still in the thin sheets. His stomach gave a roll in protest, arms quivering under his body weight as he made no move to right himself.

There was a soft knock on the door, the tentative rap of knuckles sounding like gunshots. He made a grunt in the affirmative that cracked in his throat, vocal chords grinding together painfully. The door creaked open slowly and Christian took a step inside, eyes falling on Blaine's frame with unease.

"I was going to ask if you were okay, but I can see that you're not." His roommate chewed on his lip slowly, earthy green eyes sweeping the distance in carpet between them as if he were wondering whether or not he should come further.

"I'm fine." Blaine pushed himself up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress as he made a second attempt for the nightstand. He succeeded, tugging it open and glancing in at the contents with an expression that quickly turned sour. "Fucking fuck me."

"Blaine?" Christian was still standing in the doorway, fingers wringing together as he watched in silence.

"Nothing. Go to class. I have to go as well, apparently." He slid off the bed, sheet sinking down around his feet as he gave an experimental stretch, arms reaching above his head. Christian gave him another little dubious look before retreating, pulling the door closed with him as he went and leaving Blaine alone in the openness of his room.

The curly-haired man took a slow step, wincing as his entire body practically hissed in protest. A hot shower and coffee would help. It was the little things.

 

When he had finished cleaning up Christian was already gone, coffee machine still on and bread in the toaster. He cared too much. Blaine pushed down the lever, settling for dry toast and coffee as he continued to towel his hair. The contents that he drank the night before seemed to slosh in his head rather than stomach, the ache behind his eyes ever present as Blaine threw the used towel over the back of the dining room chair and leaned against the counter for support. He had been doing so good; everything had been going so well and then  _Kurt_  just had to come back and fuck everything up. What bothered Blaine the most is that he had practically wished it to happen. Wished to see him once more, to see if he was okay and successful and not hurting the way Blaine was.  _Be careful what you wish for_.

He started as the toaster popped, forehead thunking against the cupboard door as he reached for his breakfast with sluggish fingers. And worst of all, he  _missed_  him. Missed the way his eyes lit up whenever he was being particularly passionate, missed the way he wrinkled his nose at something idiotic Blaine did, missed the way he held himself when people thought they could push him down, the way he tilted his chin up in pride because he wasn't scared of who he was and that was enough for him. Blaine missed their pitiful staring contests where they'd lean over Burt's dining room table and just gaze into each other's eyes and claim they were having a stare-down if Kurt's father ever questioned them when really they were just watching one another. He missed the way Kurt would whisper critiques on outfits during Project Runway while they were cuddled together on the couch under a blanket and it was really too hot but it didn't matter because they were together.

He missed Kurt's shy smile, missed the rosy colour that brushed across his cheeks, missed the way he looked up at Blaine from under his eyelashes and bit his lip when he thought he was being stupid but was actually being incredibly sexy. He missed it all and he fucking wanted it back.

Blaine pressed his fingertips against his temples, rubbing gentle circles as he headed towards the door, coffee forgotten. Shoelaces quickly became the most impossible thing, fingers slipping over the woven strands as he scowled down at the worn Converse, toast clenched between his teeth. Everything hated him, everything hated him and it was stupid.

Finally managing to don his footwear, Blaine grabbed his coat from the closet handle, the leather sliding over his shoulders making him feel just that much better. There was a sense of peace that came with his coat. He felt stronger, like the whole day wouldn't be so miserable. He felt _powerful_.

 

School was absolutely ridiculous. Blaine didn't know why people willingly put money into some place where older people told you how to live your life and what to do. He slumped deeper into his seat at the back of the room, forehead falling forward to smack against the wood of his desk. It was useless. The only reason he even bothered to apply was because sometimes he got bored and his Grandfather insisted that he'd pay for anything and everything. And besides, it was a way to escape his father.

The teacher droned on about something relating to English, his monotonous voice clanging around the silent room like pots and pans introduced to an excited child. There was a little noise to his left that caused Blaine to roll his head against the table, eyes searching out the creator. They fell on a girl around his age, twenty-one or so, staring back at him. Her thin eyebrows were drawn together slightly, glasz eyes raking over his hunched frame with slight unease. What was her name? Melody? Mary? Melissa?

The look was unnerving. Her long fingers were woven together on her desk, wavy chestnut hair that was dip-dyed an electric blue falling over her shoulders. Blaine gave a little grunt in mock greeting, cheek squishing down against the wood with resignation. This just seemed to intrigue the girl further, pierced brow cocking as her eyes narrowed.  _Was she even going to fucking say anything or just stare at him?_

"Are you okay?"  _No._

"Yeah, fine. Why?" The words were muffled, eyes closing by their own violation as the girl gave him a dubious look.

"Are you sure?" He cracked an eye to glare at her, hands balling into fists at his sides.

"Why the fuck do you care?" he hissed out between clenched teeth.

"Because Blaine, you look pretty fucked up; like no offense but you look like shit. And you haven't been here for a week or so and frankly I'm surprised that you haven't gotten kicked out." She looked utterly bored –an expression often worn by himself-, studying her painted black fingernails with disdain.

"One, how the fuck do you even know my name? And two, fuck you." He pushed himself upright once more, scowling down at the desk top. Who was she to judge him? Who was anybody to judge him? They didn't know him, they didn't know his life.

"I've sat beside you since September and Mr. Ellis pulls a tantrum when you aren't in class which is all the time so I don't know why he's still bitching." Blaine chanced a look at her, eyes flickering quickly over the way she held herself. It was the 'don't fuck with me' stance. She gave off an air of subtle badassery that he was surprised he didn't notice before; startlingly icy blue eyes rimmed with a thin black, nose ring glinting in the artificial light as she looked back at him again.

"What's  _your_  name?" Blaine's fingers gripped at the edge of the desk, narrowed eyes on the girl.

"Maeve. And before you ask, no you can't have my number because I don't want to be your buddy that helps you rob banks or go shoe shopping with you, whatever it is you gays do." She seemed to be amusing herself. At least one of them was having fun.

"I don't want your fucking number, Princess, but thank you," he snarled, grabbing his bag off the floor as the bell rang and starting towards the front of the class.

"Ah, Mr. Anderson. Finally deciding to show up for one of my lessons, I see." Blaine could have thrown up right there. The way Cameron Ellis wandered towards the door, silently eyeing the students as they slowly left the room. Maeve was the last to leave, giving Blaine a cheeky wiggle of her fingers as she slipped out of the classroom. The heavy wood door shut with a click, lock flicking shut behind it.

"I need more." Blaine leaned on the teacher's desk, head dropping back to look at the ceiling that was stained ungodly hues.  _How did that even get there?_

"Blaine, you haven't shown up for my class in a week and you think you can just burst in one day and get whatever you want?" Cameron slowly made his way across the tile and Blaine couldn't help but relate it to a predator stalking its prey.

"Yes. Because you see, I have assault material. I could run to the school board right now and pull the innocent boy." He tilted his head back down to watch the teacher who'd froze in place as if contemplating Blaine's words. "I can see the headlines now; Cameron Ellis charged for sexual assault on one of his students." He couldn't help the sardonic smile that pulled its way across his lips as Cameron watched him silently.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, but I could. And that's what matters now, isn't it? So why don't you just give me what I'm here for and you'll get your payment. Easy transaction like always."

"How much do you need? And what am I getting as payment?" The older man's face quickly morphed into the smirk that Blaine was used to. He always assumed it was supposed to be attractive and sly and sexy when all it really did was make Cameron come off as a gassy baby. It was almost laughable. Almost.

"At least a week's worth. Actually no, I'd prefer a month or so. Considering I'm not a daily user to begin with. I want my money's worth, to say the least." Blaine watched his teacher with careful eyes, following the way the line of his mouth seemed to widen in success with barely contained disgust. "Payment is your choice. Anything within the guidelines we specified."

Cameron seemed to contemplate the offer, pausing a few feet from Blaine as he cast his eyes to the ceiling the same way Blaine had not long before. "I have been wanting a blowjob for quite some time. My wife has a terrible gag-reflex and doesn't like giving head and if I'll be honest, you've the best mouth I've ever had the pleasure-" the way the word rolled off his tongue was almost enough to make Blaine gag "- of experiencing."

"It's all yours. Just give me what I came here for first and we'll get down to business. Same as always." Blaine slid off the edge of the wooden desk, moving to lean against the chalkboard as Cameron began rummaging through drawers. It was honestly a surprise he hadn't been caught yet. It wasn't like N.Y.U was low maintenance. He was presented a small black cloth bag, zipped at the top with a tag attached to the metal that had Blaine's name on it. Always prepared. The look Cameron gave him as Blaine tucked the sack in with his own stuff was positively revolting; fingers thumbing open the button of his slacks and eyes darkened with lust.  _Fuck._

 

Blaine's jaw ached, which was really saying something because he'd given his share of blowjobs and he was proud of the way he was never in pain afterwards. He almost felt like crying. They'd shared a lot of intimacies since Cameron became Blaine's drug dealer and the curly haired man had never felt as distraught as he did now; even after the first time he hadn't been this upset.

The halls of the school weren't empty, they never were, but it was about as clear as they'd get for the day until nightfall. The sound of Blaine's battered Converse echoed around the corridor as he strode with purpose toward the exit. His mouth tasted sour; salt and skin and other ungodly flavours twining themselves together over his taste buds as if it was supposed to be a reward. It wasn't. His fingers tightened around the strap of his backpack that swung from one shoulder as he tried his hardest not to throw himself down the few stairs to the door.

The air was crisp and cold already, grey-brown clouds covering the city as a few delicate snowflakes made their way past the stretching claws of the skyscrapers. It was three, maybe four o'clock and the people bustling by on the sidewalk didn't even cast him a second glance.

Sometimes Blaine wished he lived within walking distance. The subway was such a disgusting thing; garbage strewn across the platforms where people hadn't even tried to make it to the bin, trains that smelled like dirt and regret.

 

The apartment was warm when Blaine pushed open the door, Christian's quiet singing echoing from the kitchen. Blaine had put a stereo on one of the shelves, claiming that all meals needed music in order to make them better, because of course, people felt good when they listened to music. Christian had rolled his eyes and brushed it off and ignored the device as if it weren't there. Though there were a few times when Blaine had come back around dinner time –like so- to the quiet speakers working their magic as his roommate prepared dinner. The first time it happened, Blaine leaned against the doorway and grinned ear-to-ear until Christian noticed his presence and scrambled to silence the music, claiming it was on to stave off his loneliness. Now, the teasing didn't go further than Blaine giving a little tilt of his head in the direction of the radio and a scowl from Christian.

The shoebox that they called their home smelled of spaghetti and Christian poked his head around the divider to give Blaine a curious look. "Welcome back." His voice was quiet, barely masked inquiry riddling his tone.

Blaine glanced up from where he was toeing off his shoes, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth that he wouldn't be able to explain if he tried. "Hey."

The slightly taller man gave him a grin, disappearing behind the wall to return to the stove. "How was school?"

Blaine wandered to the kitchen –if it could even be called that- and slumped into one of the island stools. "It was school. There isn't anything exciting about school."

"That's a total lie. School can be fun. There are people to meet and things to learn and-"

"Christian."

"I know, I'm sorry. I just wish you could be happy sometimes. I know you don't think that you deserve it but, dare I say it, you're actually a pretty awesome guy." Christian threw him a glance over his shoulder while stirring the sauce-meatball concoction.

"Thanks." Suddenly the marble became the most interesting thing in the world.

"Blaine?" He glanced up at his friend as Christian began straining the pasta, holding it away from his body to avoid the steam with a face that resembled disgust. Why hot water was disgusting was beyond Blaine.

"Yeah?"

"I want to ask you something but I don't want you to like... freak out or run away or tear me a new one."

"It sounds serious, then. That means you should probably wait for a more opportune time to ask rather than when the stove is covered with hot things that would work marvellously as burning material." Christian looked horrified, setting the pot back on the now turned off burner with widened eyes that he cast in Blaine's direction. "I'm totally kidding. Believe it or not I think I actually like you." The last sentence was mumbled as Blaine stared back at the tabletop, fingers twisted together in his lap as he avoided Christian's eyes.

"I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," Christian cooed, bringing a palm to his heart and letting out a light sigh that was totally mocking.

"I'll fucking take it back, you asshole." His roommate gave a little chuckle, fishing in the cupboard for plates before scooping each of them suitable portions. Christian sat at the island beside him, sliding the porcelain across the stone and gaining a mumbled 'thanks'.

"So, can I ask or are you going to throw your dinner in my face because I'd really rather you didn't. I worked hard on that and this shirt cost a lot more than I'll ever admit." Blaine raised his head to look at Christian, mouth full of pasta threatening to overflow. He gave a small nod in the affirmative before dropping his gaze back to the food set before him. "What happened last night?"

Blaine almost choked, giving a feeble cough that did nothing but make things worse. Christian's hand was at his back, rubbing and patting over his shoulders as Blaine struggled to swallow his mouthful. Finally managing to empty his mouth he grabbed for the glass of water that sat before him, courtesy of Christian's thorough dinner preparations. After downing a surprising amount of the liquid, Blaine looked back up at his roommate.

"I saw him."


	5. A Sinner On The Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of abuse by a parent and minor speak of suicide. Song is Casual Affair by Panic! At The Disco. Make sure to read Kurt's POV because I promise it’s the best. Enjoy!

_Hey, a casual affair,_

_That could go anywhere,_

_And only for tonight._

_Take any moment, any time,_

_A lover on the left,_

**_A sinner on the right_ ** _._

_Hush, hush, don’t you say a word._

 

“You saw him? Who’s him? Oh!  _Fuck_. Are you okay? I mean obviously you aren’t because that’s kind of something big.” Christian was rambling the same way he always did when he was either concerned or nervous.

“Shut up,” Blaine laughed. Why it was worth laughing over was beyond him. “I’m just going to go to bed. Thank you for dinner and even though I didn’t finish, it was wonderful. So thank you.” Blaine was possessed, he had to be. There was no way he’d ever be as kind to anybody as he was being to Christian right now. His roommate must have been thinking the same thing if the gaping mouth that followed him out of the room was anything to go by.

 

The next few days were a blur. He stayed in bed over the entirety of both Tuesday and Wednesday, barely awake long enough to eat the food that Christian brought for him before drifting off once again to nightmares of blue eyes and chestnut swooping hair, of warm embraces and stolen kisses. There was the ever present murmur of Christian’s voice outside his door, whether it be hushed phone calls or his quiet singing to the music that curled through the apartment continuously. Wednesday night was different. Blaine felt lighter for a reason that he couldn’t place; like there was a weight lifted off his chest and he could finally take a breath of fresh air.

 

Blaine slept soundly for the first time in ages. A dreamless night where he didn’t once wake up, screaming or otherwise. And it was positively glorious, despite it being 5p.m.

He stretched slowly, a little moan loosing its way from the back of his throat as his back cracked. He felt free and careless and it was exhilarating. Boundless, like maybe he could smile today and be happy and really live life out from under the storm cloud.

Blaine rolled off the bed, arms reaching above his head in another stretch just because he could and it felt so damn awesome. He couldn’t help the little half-shimmy as he made his way to the living room. Christian was already awake, as always; moving around the space and humming quietly while dusting.

“Good morning.” Christian jumped at the sound of his voice, feathered plastic jolting against the glass dolphin statues he was so adamant on collecting and knocking over one with an undignified squeal. Blaine fell onto the couch with a laugh –an honest to god laugh- as he grinned up at his roommate.

“Well good morning, Cheery.” Christian tossed him a small smile over his shoulder as he righted the disrupted figure. “What lit up your candle?”

“I just feel really good today. I feel free, like I can  _breathe_  for a little while.” Blaine let out a light sigh, grinning dopily down at his hands.

“That’s good. Breathing is a good thing. Oxygen is needed to live. Being alive. Breathing. Life is so  _cool_ , y’know? Like wow.  _Life_. I—“

The smile dropped as fast as it had come. “Chris, what’s wrong?”

Christian cast him a meager glance as he edged himself around the room. “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Of course not. Nothing wrong here, no sir.” His voice cracked at the end as he kept himself turned away from Blaine.

“Christian,” Blaine pulled himself off the couch, reaching for his friend, “what the fuck is wrong?”

“Nothing.” It was a squeak as there was a knock at the door, a firework of panic blooming across the taller man’s face. “I’ll get it.” He pulled out of Blaine’s grip, nearly running to the door as if he couldn’t get there fast enough. Blaine didn’t know what to do. Did he stand around and wait? Did he go do something? The tips of his fingers tingled in the reminder that he was supposed to be happy. Maybe he’d go back to his room and play with his keyboard. Music was a good outlet. He could make some of his own off this newfound surge of happiness.

Blaine padded back down the hallway, bare feet squeaking slightly on the polished hardwood. The second he stepped back into his room it was as if he never left. The warm glow of the sunset filtering through his blinds made everything wonderful again. As if Christian’s weird deal never happened. He was alive and free and  _wild_  and he just felt like laughing; singing out loud to no music and dancing with a stranger on the street. He spun in a little circle on the carpet, fingers touching his face as if he couldn’t believe it was real. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he was  _alive_.

Blaine dropped down on the little leather stool in front of his keyboard and set to work. Smiling and swaying and feeling the music as he played in no direction, the smooth plastic keys bringing out a warmth he didn’t remember existed. He was so happy he felt like crying. Like throwing open his window and yelling it out for the world to hear that he was  _living_.

“What are you playing?”  _No!_  No, it couldn’t. It couldn’t be happening. The warmth evaporated. When Blaine turned around he’d be faced with Christian leaning against the doorframe the way he always did when he watched Blaine play –although that rarely happened to begin with. This wasn’t happening –it  _couldn’t_  be.

Blaine twisted on the seat slowly, the figure in the doorway unfortunately nothing like his slight yet sturdy roommate. The navy business suit looked so out of place in Blaine’s small room of what  _was_  a sanctuary only moments ago. He still looked the same as he always had, although more aged than before. Dark temples greying slightly, crow’s feet deepened –definitely not from smiling-. His mouth was still set the same. Disgusted, disappointed, and disinterested.

William Anderson hadn’t changed a bit.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Blaine spat as he rose off his chair.

“I got a call. Your friend said you needed some guidance. Some nudging in the right direction.” William’s voice was still cold; still harsh and empty and  _icy_.

“Oh you’ve done enough ‘nudging’. I’ve got the scars to prove it. You always seemed to wonder why I tried to avoid you, why I didn’t want anything to do with you. You fucking  _beat_  me for Christ sake.” Blaine’s father’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took a step into the room.

“This isn’t what I wanted for you, Blaine.”

“No, of course not. You wanted a straight son who would follow directly in your footsteps and be your little clone. And when Cooper left for L.A you didn’t have to pretend to be happy for him anymore.”

“Blaine.”

“No. You can’t come into my house and try and tell me how to live my life. I left because I had the obviously false hope that I’d never have to see you again.” Blaine could tell the second that his father’s composure snapped. The way his carefully schooled face shifted into a line of anger and his fingers twitched at his sides.

 

_Blaine didn’t know what he did wrong. He never knew. There were days when his father seemed as happy as he was going to be, even passing little smiles at Blaine over their dinner table when he bothered to make food for the both of them._

_But then there were other days. Days where the second Blaine stepped in the door after coming home from school he could feel how wrong everything was. Feel the shift in the air that made him want to somehow get the school bus to come back so that he could run away._

_He would always be in the living room on those days; eyes trained on the television that had probably been muted longer than it hadn’t, a squared glass of scotch on the table beside him. He’d twist in his chair to look at Blaine, expression that may have been light and cheerful the day before now empty and loathing. And Blaine didn’t know what to make of it. He knew if he tried to escape that his father would find him anyways. So he did as he was told and took everything thrown at him with stinging eyes and pitiful cries that nobody would hear._

“I’m here to help you. You know, if you’d never done whatever you did with that  _Kurt_ -“ the name rolled off William’s tongue sourly, “- boy, you wouldn’t be in this mess. What are you even doing here? Your arm looks like a fucking tally chart and I don’t know what could ever possess you to do such a thing to yourself.”

“This has nothing to do with Kurt!  _You_  did this to me. You made me this way. You made me want to  _die_. I hate being alive and you’re the reason that I can’t remove myself from the situation because then that would make you look like the good guy and make me look selfish.” Blaine was seething. He brought his hand up to subconsciously cover his forearm, fingertips brushing over the newly raised scars.

“I didn’t want this for you,” his father repeated and he suddenly seemed so miserable, like he’d honestly planned for Blaine to be okay and that he’d failed as a father because he wasn’t. Of course he failed. Why else would Blaine have mangled scars that tore up the golden expanse of his back and twisted around his ribs in a gruesome reminder of the way things were?

“Exactly. Because you wanted me to be perfect, and strong, and successful, and  _straight_.” The distress washed off his father’s face and the anger was back. “You shoved this bible in my face and tried to take me to Church and make me what you deem normal.”

“I just wanted you to have some religion. So that you wouldn’t turn into...  _this_.” William’s hand gestured at Blaine as a whole. “Kurt’s probably what made you gay in the first place,” he sneered, arms folding across his chest in the way he used to dismiss Blaine; to make him look older, as if he had authority and his son didn’t and whatever Blaine would say didn’t matter because he wasn’t the  _adult_.

“He did not ‘make me gay.’ I promise I liked boys long before I was fucking them.”

“You know that it’s a sin to lay with another man.”

This made Blaine laugh, arm slipping to clutch at his stomach as he moved to brace himself against the wall, head falling forward and dark curls flopping over his eyes. “I’m pretty sure we’ve gathered that I’m a sinner, although it doesn’t count as lying with a man if you’re fucking against the wall.”

“That’s vile.”

“So is my entire life to you, so why don’t you get the hell out of my house and stop trying to come back and tell me how to live my life.” Blaine couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his lips at his father’s expression. He looked positively  _livid_. And yet he turned without a backward glance, the small apartment seeming to rattle as the front door slammed shut.

 

His roommate was curled up on the couch, tucked into the corner and staring unseeingly at the dark television. He looked lost. Lost and alone and small. But that didn’t matter because they had something that needed discussing.

“Why?” Blaine snarled from the opening to the hallway, shadows created from the golden lamp across the room leaving him in partial-darkness.

Christian’s head snapped up at his voice, seeming to try and sink further into the couch. “Blaine....”

“Don’t. I want to know why you thought bringing him here was a fucking good idea.” He stepped into the room, moving around to the other side of the coffee table to watch his roommate.

“He’s your dad; I thought he could help you get things back on track. I knew you couldn’t have always been so sad all the time. I was just trying to help,” Christian squeaked out, fingers that were twined together rubbing slightly.

“Maybe you should have asked what my relationship was with him before you tried to be the knight in shining armour.”

“Blaine, I’m so sorry.”

“He fucking beat me, Christian. He beat the shit out of me my whole life and made me want to  _die_  and the only reason I didn’t kill myself was because then at the funeral he’d be able to pull the victim card and make himself not look like the bad guy and show that maybe he did have feelings. But he doesn’t care about me, he never cared about me. Ask before you do something.” Blaine turned to leave, sufficiently satisfied with his monologue before Christian spoke up again.

“If I’d have asked, you would have tore a strip off me and yelled about how you didn’t need help.”

“It’s because I don’t need help. I don’t need help from anybody.”

“You’re a human being, everybody needs help sometimes.” Christian was standing now, voice gaining more confidence when he figured that Blaine wasn’t going to tell him off. Too bad he was hoping too hard.

“I don’t  _need_  anything. I’m not your fucking charity case and I don’t want your pity. So butt the fuck out and let me live what’s left of my shitty life.” Blaine started for the door, grabbing his coat off the rack as he went and sliding on his shoes.

“Blaine! Where are you going?”

“Fuck you.” And the door to the apartment slammed shut for the second time that night. 


	6. Once Upon A Time I Didn't Give A Damn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains child abuse although from past events and homophobic slurs as well as mentions of self-harm and small talk of suicide. I used the New York stuff from my knowledge of NYC when I was there and based Blaine's phone picture off my own that I had taken. This song is Whataya Want From Me by the magnificent Adam Lambert. Enjoy!

_There might have been a time when I would give myself away._

_Oh,_ _**once upon a time I didn't give a damn** _ _._

_But now,_

_Here we are._

_So whataya want from me?_

 

New York was teeming with life; snowflakes sprinkling the city in a gentle white sheet as people rushed by. Taxis littered the street, honking at the stragglers that dared to cross in front of them. It was overwhelming as always.

Blaine tugged his hood up as he started down the street in no particular direction. It was going to be a long night.

 

_"Blaine, come here." His mother's voice echoed up the staircase to where Blaine was seated on the floor of his bedroom, action figures scattered around him. Blaine pulled himself off the carpet, grin plastered on his face as he scurried out of the room and down the stairs._

_Kylie Anderson was waiting at the door, suitcase in hand and eyes drifting around the house warily, as if she were nervous some monster was going to leap out from behind a corner and steal them both away. And something was wrong, very, very wrong. His mother was never nervous. She was always bright eyes and wide smiles and high laughs._

_"Mommy, what's wrong?" Blaine stopped on the last step, peeking over the banister that she was looking around and searching for any reason for her to be this way. She was a lot paler than usual, skin pasty with heavy purpling bags under hazel eyes - much like his own- that were dull and lifeless._

_She wore a brown leather coat, silk scarf wound hastily around her neck as her fingers clenched on the suitcase handle. "Nothing's wrong, baby. I just wanted you to come and say goodbye to me." She tried to smile, cracked lips stretching slightly in a motion that never touched her empty gaze._

_"Where are you going?" He dropped off the last stair, tilting his head up to watch her quietly._

_"I'll be back soon. Mommy just needs to go away for awhile." She slid down on her knees in front of him, abandoning her luggage momentarily to reach out and straighten his bowtie._

_"But why?" He just didn't understand. He didn't understand why she had to leave. Where was she going? When was 'soon'? Did Daddy know she was leaving? Why was she so scared?_

_Something in her face hardened, eyes narrowing slightly as she pulled her hands away from his clothes. "Just because."_

_Oh! She was doing that thing she did when she wanted Blaine to guess. She was playing a game with him! A broad grin stretched across his face. "Because why?"_

_"Blaine, don't fucking do this right now, please." He took a step back, heel catching on the lip of the bottom stair and causing him to fall back on his behind. Mommy never swore. Ever. She stood back up, hand rubbing against her arm slightly with a barely contained wince, sleeve slipping up with the movement and revealing harsh purple marks against her skin. From what he could see, it looked like fingerprints. Now that he realized, her hand was bandaged too, white gauze wrapped around the width of her palm._

_Blaine's eyes stung and his bottom ached slightly from his fall. She wasn't okay. She_ swore _at him. "I-I'm sorry," he whimpered._

_"Goodbye, my dear boy." She leaned over, pressing a dry kiss to his forehead and then she was gone, door closing behind her with a click. And he was all alone._

 

Sbarro was Blaine's go-to restaurant, even though he'd never admit it. He ordered his pizza and slowly clunked down the stairs with his tray, retreating to the back corner of the room. He felt so alone and so lost and he hated it, hated feeling like he was insignificant. Even though he was.

 

_Blaine was curled up in his room when Cooper got home, knocking on his open door with a grin that fell quickly at the state of his younger brother._

_"Why are you crying, Kiddo? What happened? Did the assholes at school make fun of your bowties again?" Cooper dropped to his knees in front of Blaine, arms opening up in that way that said he wanted a hug. Blaine gave a sniff, mimicking his brother's stance rather than moving to fall into Cooper's embrace._

_Cooper watched him carefully, inching closer to wrap his arms around Blaine's middle and scoop him off the floor into a tight hug. Blaine let out a little sob, burying his face in his brother's shirt and clinging around his waist as the shakes started to set in. He'd never felt this horrible in his life. He'd never felt so small and useless and_ alone _. "Squirt, what happened?" Cooper's voice, although calm, was laced with something else. Something more. He sounded upset. Perfect, he upset more people today._

_"Mommy's gone, Coop," he sniffled out, fingers tightening in the back of his brother's shirt to make sure he couldn't leave if he tried to pull away. He wouldn't let someone else run away from him._

_Cooper stiffened in his arms, "What do you mean she's gone, Blaine?"_

_Blaine lifted his head to look up at his brother, tears still dripping from his eyes and rolling off his cheeks. "She called me downstairs and she told me that she was leaving. That she needed to go away for awhile and that she'd be back soon. I don't think she's coming back, Coopy. She left me all by myself and I was so scared. I've never been home by myself before." Cooper started to pull away and Blaine clung on tighter. "Please don't leave me alone." He was back to sobbing, cheek smushing into Cooper's army green sweater once again._

_"I won't, Blainey. I won't leave you alone."_

 

It couldn't have been any later than 7p.m.; customers still coming and going, laughing loudly and probably having the time of their lives in the city that dreams were made of. Blaine pulled out his cell phone, lighting up the screen and glancing at the time. 7:20p.m.

Blaine sighed, rolling his straw between his fingertips as he leaned his jaw into his palm. He just wanted to be okay. He wanted to be happy and he wanted to feel alive. Another minute ticked by on the mounted wall clock he hadn't realized was there.

 

_Blaine was nine years old. It was two years after his mother had left out and he was okay. He was still living and he still felt good about himself sometimes. Like when he got a good grade in school._

_Cooper was usually busy with either school or auditions for some community theatre and whenever he came home, he generally ignored Blaine anyways. So he was content with being content with himself._

_Mrs. Wood, his grade three teacher, was a really nice lady. She always praised Blaine, giving him stickers on his tests and calling on him when he was the first to have his hand up with a beaming smile. It was as if he was her favourite. He probably was._

_Blaine was always quiet in class, ignoring his rambunctious classmates unless he was spoken to directly and answering every question that was asked. It was safe to say that he was a good kid. He never got into trouble, preferring to sit alone in the back of the class during lunch time while the other's socialized. Sometimes he got weird looks but Blaine didn't care. All that mattered was that he was happy._

_Blaine bounced his way off the school bus, knapsack swinging off one shoulder as he skipped up to the door. His father's car was in the driveway, which was unusual because he was rarely ever home. He must be on break from work for once. Blaine smiled as he pushed his way inside, picking up the mail and taking it out to the kitchen table like routine; sorting it between his father's and the occasional thing for Cooper._

_Without even giving it a second glance, he swept all the envelopes for his mother into the garbage can._

 

Blaine sunk deeper into his plastic chair with a sigh, pushing around the remains of his pizza with disdain. He should probably go and do something. Maybe he could go to the Library.

 

_His father's Library was huge. Shelves upon shelves of books filled with things that Blaine couldn't even begin to imagine. He always felt safe in the Library. Surrounded by the smell of paper and warmth and words. Blaine was always in love with words. He was the best at English, topping any of the students in his class with his big sentences and intricate explanations. He always felt so happy when he could talk at length to anybody who would listen to him. He felt so_ smart _._

_Blaine let his fingers run along the spines of the books as he strode between the shelves, smiling to himself at the rough texture. He felt like laughing. Like spinning in circles until he was dizzy and giggling until he couldn't breathe because he just felt so free._

 

Blaine grabbed a book off the shelf, fingertips grazing over the worn golden lettering as he took his purchase to a beanbag chair in the corner.

 

_He was sitting in the back of the room when he heard the door open. Heavy footsteps making the wood under carpet creak in a way his small feet didn't. There were a few books scattered around him, each with little slips of paper marking his place in each one. Blaine loved reading; never able to choose only one book to read at a time and instead settling on several. He pushed the torn paper into his place and looked up at his father. Who was definitely not happy._

_There was a glass of something dangling from his fingers, an almost amber liquid backlit by Blaine's lamp. His face was cast in shadows as he looked down at his son, but something was definitely wrong. Something was weird, instead of smiling the way his Daddy usually did; he was scowling down at Blaine and his small collection of books._

_"What the hell are you doing?" his father slurred out, nudging his shoe-clad toe against one of Blaine's crossed knees._

_He tried not to cry. Today was supposed to be a good day. He got his report card for the end of the first term and he had A+'s through and through. He was supposed to be happy. "I'm reading." Blaine tried not to make it sound like he was being a smartass, because he knew how much his Daddy absolutely hated it when he did._

_His father slammed the glass onto the desk that held Blaine's lamp with enough force that the noise echoed through the room and Blaine jumped from his spot on the floor, fingers clenching reflexively into the hardcover of the book still in his lap. "Why the fuck are you in here?"_

_None of this made sense. His Daddy never swore. He never had that weird golden drink unless he had some friends over and he never_ ever _raised his voice at Blaine. Except here he was, doing everything that he'd never done before._

_"I'm sorry, Daddy, I just got home from school and I did really good on my report card and I wanted to rea—"_

_"I don't care what you_ want _to do! This is not_ your _house; you don't get to do whatever the fuck you feel like doing." There was a hand in the front of Blaine's shirt, hauling him up off the floor and he heard stitches ripping as his feet dangled centimetres off the carpet._

_"I'm sorry!" He still didn't know why he was apologizing but something had to be his fault. He had to have done something. Did he forget to clean his room this week? Did he forget to make his bed? Did he leave one of his dishes on the table?_

_"And what the fuck is this stupid thing?" Blaine's toes were back on the floor but the fist in his shirt didn't leave as his father's free hand tore at his bowtie. "You look like a fucking faggot, Blaine." He tossed the offending article to the side and Blaine tried so hard not to cry. To ignore the names his Daddy was calling him even though he didn't know what they meant._

_"I like them..." Blaine choked around the lump in his throat, swallowing hard and trying to pull away. His father's breath smelled like something horrible and Blaine couldn't get away, couldn't breathe with the miserable constricting smell that clogged his lungs._

_And then he was stumbling backwards, tripping over his books and something sharp was digging into his back as he fell to the floor. His father left without another word, picking up his drink and retreating from the room as if nothing ever happened. As if he hadn't just thrown his son into the corner of the bookcase and left him crying in the Library._

 

Blaine let out a shuddering sigh, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. He'd been here for too long and he was getting a headache. It was 10p.m. now and the Library was to close in half an hour. Blaine had finished a book and was halfway through the next as he tried to ignore the throbbing behind his eyes.

He slid out of the chair, dog-earing the book before scooping up his coat and heading for the front desk to sign it out.

 

_Cooper was never home and it sucked. Because the longer Blaine was left home with his father, the more he was yelled at for things he'd come to realize he didn't do and the more bruises showed up on his back._

_When he was, he was sitting in the living room, cell phone in hand, texting away and ignoring his brother as he tried to get his attention; tugging on Cooper's sleeve slightly until he was shooed away or snapped at for being 'so fucking annoying'._

_Today he was home and Blaine was sitting in the middle of the floor and chewing on his pencil as he did his homework. It was getting late and it was almost time for his bath. Cooper was in his chair with his phone, as always, although he kept sending Blaine weird glances._

_Blaine closed his duotang, sighing as he pushed it aside and looked up at his brother. "Coop, can you run me a bath?" He knew it was a long shot, he usually had to do things for himself as of recently._

_"Sure, Squirt." And then his brother was gone, taking the stairs two at a time and leaving Blaine staring stupidly at the abandoned chair._

_He picked up his things, going to the kitchen to dump them into his backpack before starting up the steps. When he reached the top, Cooper was sitting on the closed toilet seat, fingertips fumbling with the edges of his phone as he stared unseeingly at the porcelain tiled walls. It was unlike Cooper to be so quiet, so look so anxious._

_Blaine pulled off his shirt, turning away from his brother to carefully fold the article and when he turned back, Cooper was gaping at him. "Blaine," he breathed out, hand reaching forward to touch at the dark purple marks on Blaine's upper arm as his cell phone clattered to the floor, "did the people at school do this to you?" His thumb brushed over one of the marks before he turned Blaine around slowly, fingertips skating over the discolouration down the expanse of his back._

_Blaine shook his head slightly, biting his lower lip as Cooper turned him back around to look up at him. "Daddy did it," he whispered quietly, eyes welling up at the reminder._

_And then something hardened in his brother's face and he swept out of the room, thundering down the stairs and leaving his phone forgotten on the floor. Blaine picked it up carefully, placing it beside the sink for when Cooper came back._

 

_There was shouting that night and Blaine couldn't sleep, kept awake by the outraged cries of his brother and the much calmer although equal in volume retorts of his father. Cooper pushed his way into Blaine's room that night and sat on the edge of his bed, watching Blaine with careful eyes as he pushed the curls off his forehead. It'd been a long time since there was anybody around to look after him and Blaine fell asleep almost right away._

 

The crisp air pierced through Blaine's jacket as he stepped onto the sidewalk; shuddering against the cold as his fingers tightened around the book and he tried to sink deeper into his coat, as if trying to disappear.

 

_Blaine was cold, so cold. The wind swept past him again, stirring up the snow in a tornado of ice. The air stung his bare arms, numb hands rubbing against them as if that would somehow warm him up. There was snow crammed into his hastily thrown on boots._

_He couldn't stop crying. Tears ran over his cheeks and froze, nose dripping pitifully and refusing to stop even as he attempted to rub at it. Cars whipped by on the road just past the tree line and all he could think about was how any one of them could be his father; any one of them could stop and find him and drag him back._

_There was a noise behind him, the crack of a tree branch and a worried cry of his name._ Cooper _. He turned around into the face of his brother, strong arms scooping him up out of the snow with surprising strength and pressing him close to a warm chest._

_"Blainey, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Cooper said, furious and relieved all at the same time._

_"Please don't take me back. Please, Coop." Blaine pressed his face against his brother's throat, freezing fingers curling against the collar of a black turtleneck._

_"You're freezing, we have to." Cooper was already started back toward the house and all Blaine could do was wail, squirming in his brother's grip._

_"_ Please _! I don't want to go back and see Daddy. He hurt me again. Please don't make me go back. I'd rather_ die _!"_

 

The subway was ever crowded, snow tracked in from outside soaking the platform. Blaine's shoes slipped against the painted lines, eyes flickering around to the people that surrounded the area. They all looked so professional; suits and briefcases filled with who knows what important information.

He made his way through the turnstiles, metrocard in hand before boarding one of the trains. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he care.

 

_His cheek hurt. The purple stain that twisted around the area looked miserable, the same as Blaine felt. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, arms wrapped around the legs that were tucked up close to his chest. Cooper was yelling with their father again and all Blaine could do was hide. He didn't know what he did wrong. He didn't know why his Daddy always tried to hurt him, why he always yelled and dragged Blaine around by the collar of his shirt. He didn't understand the names that were screamed at him. Blaine rocked slightly in his corner. He didn't cry this time. Crying usually made Daddy shout louder._

_There was the smash of glass breaking below him and Blaine jumped, fingers tightening in the fabric of his jeans. Cooper was home a lot more as of recent, sticking by Blaine's side when he could and playing with him. His father always lurked around, watching them from the open door with a glass of his weird drink and eyebrows pulled into a scowl that could have been permanent. Cooper would glare at him when he thought Blaine wasn't looking._

_But his brother couldn't always be around, and when he wasn't their father took it out on Blaine; shouting profanity in his face, grabbing handfuls of his recently gelled hair, ripping countless amounts of shirts. And he still didn't know what he did wrong, what he did to deserve it all._

 

Three hours and several trains later he ended up on West 72nd. Central Park, although well lit, looked dark. As if it could swallow him if he wandered any further down the path. The tree's branches seemed to reach down toward him, twisted claws curling through the shadows.

Blaine walked without direction, glancing at one of the signs that said  _Terrace_ in bold white letters.

 

_"Blaine, shut up. You're supposed to be quiet here." Cooper's palm smacked against the back of his head, an outraged yelp forcing its way up Blaine's throat._

_He brought up a hand to smooth down the nape of his neck as he subtly checked for any awry hairs disrupted by Cooper's slap, glaring up at his brother. "You didn't have to be a dick about it. I'm_ excited _! It's my first time in New York; I'm allowed to squeal a little."_

_"There's a difference between being excited and fangirling like a thirteen year old girl at a Justin Beiber concert." Cooper rolled his eyes, steering him in the proper direction when they came to a fork in the path._

_"I'm fourteen and I'm not a girl," Blaine grumbled, pushing out his lower lip as he tried to look put-out. But he was still grinning too much, eyes a little too squinty and cheeks a little too full as the corner of his mouth twitched. They both laughed quietly, Blaine finally heeding his brother's warnings._

 

_"Oh my God."_

_"Pretty awesome, isn't it?" Cooper sounded entirely too please with himself, leaning back on one of the benches._

_"Cooper! You can't just bring me here and expect me not to start screaming," Blaine hissed, pulling out his phone to take a picture of the stone circle pressed into the pavement._

 

The light reflected off the white shards slightly, giving the memorial a ghostly tinge as Blaine wandered around its perimeter. The dark  _Imagine_  stood starkly in the centre, black letters that held so much meaning within a simple word. The snow had been brushed away from the surrounding area, leaving a strip of concrete around the large circle.

He worked his way across, book tucked under his arm as he crouched near the middle and reached out with an almost tentative hand. He let his fingertips brush over the letters from beginning to end.

 

_"Blaine," Kurt whispered, nudging him with his hip as he rolled over on the bed they were sprawled across. "Blaine, look." He held out his phone, presenting Blaine with a picture of the_ Imagine  _memorial._

_"I know. I've been there." He couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips when Kurt's eyes widened slightly before narrowing in disbelief. He scrolled through his phone quickly, pulling up his own picture and shoving it under Kurt's nose._

_"Blaine Anderson!" And then his boyfriend was on top of him, pinning his arms to the comforter. Blaine let out a high laugh, squirming slightly underneath him."Why didn't you tell me that you went to New York?" Kurt's face was inches from his own, breath mingling between them and Blaine wanted more than anything to press those few millimetres into non-existence._

_"It never came up?" Blaine offered with a little smile, eyes crossing slightly with how close Kurt was._

_"That comes up in the basic 'get to know you' stuff! 'Hello, I'm Blaine and I've been to New York.'" Kurt's mouth brushed Blaine's as he spoke, the shorter boy's heart fluttering weakly as he chuckled._

_"You're ridiculous." Blaine smiled up at him, closing the distance to press his lips gently against Kurt's._

_"And you've been to New York."_

 

Blaine's index finger ran off the end of the ' _E_ ' slowly, letting out a sigh that curled out in front of him in the night air. He was still asking himself the same question. Why? Why did he have to go and mess everything up when he could have just been the bigger man and done the adult thing? He didn't talk to his father anymore, anyways. In fact, he avoided him like the plague and all that would have changed if he'd turned him in was that they'd have lost contact a lot sooner and Blaine would have come out with many less injuries.

He dropped out of his crouch, ass hitting the soaking pavement with a little grunt. He knew the cold would seep through fairly quickly but he didn't care. He set the book on his crossed legs, debating if he should try and read in the dim light until he got too cold.

Blaine felt as if he could breathe here, this little circle embedded into the concrete a sanctuary for his thoughts and feelings. It was like his own bubble outside of the world.  _Imagine_  was lain out between his ankles, staring up at him as if it were a promise. And maybe it was.

Imagine where things could go if he stopped being such an asshole to people he cared about, if he stopped doing drugs that never really helped him to begin with, if he stopped hurting himself over what he couldn't control just for a temporary relief. If he found Kurt and made up and did something stupid like kiss him. Imagine what would happen.

Blaine rubbed his fingers together, chasing away the cold that nipped at them as he slouched forward. Imagine if he was still the boy he was in high school. If he was in love with Disney, show tunes, and Broadway. If he had a loving boyfriend who tried his best to look after him even when he wasn't being particularly cooperative. Imagine if everything went the way it was  _supposed_  to.

Unless this was how it was planned right from the beginning. That every day he'd wake up and miss someone he couldn't have, that he'd hate himself and the world and think of a thousand different ways to remove the problem before he was reminded of his father and how at Blaine's funeral, if there even was one, that he could plead innocence and talk about how 'what an amazing son' he was and even though none of the people in the room would believe him, they'd be quiet because that was the respectful thing to do.

Would Kurt be there? Would he be in the front row, the handkerchief Blaine gave him years ago clutched in his hands as he cried? Or would he be near the back, quietly holding his fiancé's hand and seeming unfazed that he was even gone? Probably the latter.

Was he supposed to always feel like crying or did things eventually get better? And that's what had him hanging on, clinging to his strand of life. Because of the idea that things could get better. Imagine if things did. Imagine if he could go an entire day just smiling at strangers the way he used to.

Blaine rubbed his fingers through his hair, tugging just a little as he stared down at the black letters that seemed to mock him in their own silent way.

 

_"Dad, I'm... I'm gay." The sting across his cheek came almost immediately and frankly he shouldn't have been as surprised as he was._

_"I fucking knew it. You've always been such a stupid little fag," his father was already screaming and that wasn't a good sign, even though he rarely spoke at a normal level to Blaine anymore._

_Blaine took a step back, fingers coming up to touch his cheek as he lowered his eyes to the carpet between them. "I'm not stupid," he whispered, eyes closing as he fought back the sting in his eyes that he knew shouldn't have even been there in the first place. He was long past crying at his father's abuse, but something about the way he said it, the way he spat out the words like venom, made everything ache that much more._

 

Blaine sat there for an immeasurable amount of time, staring unseeingly at the ground before him. His ass was numb, melted snow seeping through his jeans while the wind blew through the pinholes in his coat. He should probably get up, probably go home and make Christian stop worrying if the amount of missed calls and unread text messages said anything. But that didn't make him want to go any quicker. Didn't make him want to move from his place on the freezing pavement and head off to face the world that he was eventually coming to realize was a lot scarier than he'd ever expected.

Blaine snorted at his own naivety, throwing a little self-conscious smile at the memorial. He was never one to be smart when it came to himself. If it was about anybody else than he was all ears and advice, but if it had anything to do with his own wellbeing and his own place in life, he was a lost cause.

 

_"You're literally so oblivious." Kurt was smiling at him from where he was sprawled across Blaine's bed. The shorter boy tapped out a few more things with his laptop before sliding off the rolling chair to take up his position beside his boyfriend._

_"Why do you say that?" The movie opened across Blaine's computer screen from the desk as they settled in; Blaine with popcorn and Kurt throwing the snack disgusted looks even though he occasionally stole a small handful._

_"You just are. I've been thinking about our relationship and how much I liked you before we even actually met and you took_ so _long to come around. It's almost laughable." He knew Kurt was teasing, grinning up at Blaine from under his lashes with that stupid little flutter that never failed to do unspeakable things to his insides._

_"And I suppose you're much more aware, are you?" Blaine quirked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up slightly. Kurt choked on his laugh, hand slapping over his mouth to stifle the loud giggles._

_"That was the stupidest question you've ever asked." His eyes were so playful, the light from the monitor dancing over his irises and playing with the colours mysteriously. "Nope, that's a lie. You've asked sillier things."_

 

There was just something about the subway at night that calmed Blaine down. He didn't know why, considering during the day he found it the most vile and disgusting thing on the planet. Maybe it was the presence of people that set him off; the way they had no concern for anybody but themselves as they shoved their way through crowds and nearly tripped over garbage strewn carelessly across the platform.

But at night it was like a whole other world. A place where Blaine could settle into one of the seats and just listen; lean back in the plastic seat with his head resting against the glass window behind him and  _breathe_. There were obviously much less people at night, although still a high enough number to make him the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Blaine lost count of the nights and hours he'd spent on the trains just going from place to place and listening to the world turn around him.

 

It was 6:30a.m. by the time he finally decided he should sleep. The doors at NYU would probably be unlocked by now, some students scurrying about at the early hours. And surely enough, Blaine got in easily.

He didn't know what to do. Why was he even at the school? What did resting have to do with the place he tried his hardest to avoid? Blaine pulled out his phone, staring at the stack of ignored calls and messages with disdain before shoving the device back into his pocket. That's why.

He made his way down the hallway, shoes squeaking loudly around the corridor. He was slightly uncomfortable; jeans still damp and briefs clinging to his ass despite his frequent movement. But there was no way he was able to change into anything anytime soon so he carried on towards the English classroom.

Stupidly and thankfully enough, Blaine's class was the only one that used the room the entire day, leaving it locked and abandoned the entire morning and it was a relief as he stopped outside the thick wooden door and pulled out the flattened hair pin that was stuffed into the inside pocket of his coat. He'd figured out the lock a long time ago, classic turn-style knob lock that was terribly easy to open compared to the rest of the classes. It was almost surprising that Cameron hadn't complained about it, considering the drugs he stuffed into the false bottoms of drawers.

The room was dark when he pushed open the door, the slightest hint of grey dusting over desk surfaces from the strip windows that lined the far side of the room. Blaine closed the door behind him before making his way up the risers to his seat at the back. It was silly really, that he would go right to his desk when he could sleep in the teacher's chair instead which was by far much more comfortable. But there was something about his own desk that made him feel safe.

His name was scratched into the top right hand corner with the tip of a compass that he'd stolen from the Math department the first day, and because of it being the only class that used the room there was nobody else to sit in his seat.

Blaine slumped down into the chair, arms folding over across the edge of the table before dropping his head down onto them.

 

_"Blaine, this is so bad! What if we get caught? We could get arrested, oh my God. This will go on my record. I_ have _to get into NYADA." Kurt was nearly shaking as he glanced around, eyes watching the road that stretched passed the school as if waiting for a Police car to drive by._

_"And we're in." Blaine pushed open the school door with a flourish and a grin, holding it wide for his boyfriend as he tucked his picking supplies back into his pocket. Kurt eyed him warily as he stepped through the opening._

_"What are we even doing here? I hate this place, why would I want to come back at night when I have to be here all day, too?" He anxiously shifted from foot to foot, nervous stare watching down the darkened hallway._

_"Because if we're here at night then we can go to the choir room and sing as loudly as we want and to our heart's content and nobody will be around to stop us." Blaine wiggled his shoulders, pulling out his little flashlight as he set off bouncing across the tile and heading for the room in question._

_"But we could just do that at my house." Kurt was quickly at his side, arm looping through Blaine's as his eyes rested on the shadows unlit by the curly haired boy's light._

_"Yes, but your house doesn't have a piano and I'm pretty sure your father would kill us both eventually." Blaine wrinkled his nose at his boyfriend with a little grin, stopping them outside the choir room and digging for his things again._

_Kurt leaned against the wall, watching his partner work with drawn eyebrows. "You know, it's rather unnerving that you can pick the locks of the school."_

_Blaine looked up from the doorknob, fingers freezing at their duties as he wiggled his eyebrows. "Just one of my many talents."_

_"Talents that could very easily have you arrested if used at the wrong time."_

_The shorter boy pushed his way into the choir room, flicking on the light and rushing almost immediately to the piano and pulling off the cover. "Don't be such a baby." His voice was teasing as he threw a grin over his shoulder. It was that grin that he saved for Kurt; eyes crinkling at the corners and all teeth, nose slightly wrinkled in a way that should never have been attractive and yet somehow it was._

 

_They sang together, Blaine eventually leaving the keys to grab his boyfriend's hands and swing them around the classroom while belting notes from whatever Broadway number they'd chosen at the time. They were laughing and stumbling, fingers clutching each other's arms and waists. Blaine felt so careless, like he could do this for the rest of his life and be happy forever. And—_

 

There was yelling. Why was there yelling? Blaine didn't remember that. Someone was shaking his shoulder and everything was way too loud.

Blaine sat up with a start, squinting against the light that had shown up far too abruptly and into the face of— _Fuck_. He slid backwards off his chair with a yelp, head knocking against the stone wall with an almost audible crack. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He watched the convulsions of Kurt's swallow as he slowly extended a tentative hand, fingers shaking from where he offered it to the man crumbled on the floor. "Blaine, calm down, it's just me. I've been looking everywhere. Fuck, you look awful."

Blaine eyed he hand before him icily as he manoeuvred his legs off the seat and pulled himself into a standing position. "It's 'just you'? Because that's supposed to be reassuring. Of course I look like shit, feel like shit, too." Kurt took a step forward and Blaine's eyes flicked to the other body that he hadn't even noticed was there until now.

"Please just listen to me, Blaine. We can fix this—together."

Blaine bit back a laugh, arms extending at his sides in a way that reminded him way too much of that day in the Lima Bean parking lot. "What the fuck is there to fix, Kurt? I'm not  _broken_. And you can't just expect to swoop in with a dash of White Knight Syndrome and assume I'm going to leap into your arms like some damsel in distress." He cast another look to who he'd come to realize was Santana in the doorway, manicured nails touching her face and cocoa eyes wide with shock. Altogether it was an expression he'd never seen her wear before. She looked  _scared_.

Kurt was shaking his head slightly, the movement drawing Blaine's gaze back to the man before him. "You just need help. Rehab, therapy, something. This isn't—" he paused, eyes resting almost sadly on Blaine, "—this isn't who you used to be. I  _knew_  you, Blaine. I knew every freckle on your body and the way your right eye would twitch when you were upset and the way your mouth would frown ever so slightly when you hated something and that bright spark in your eye when you sand and the way you twirled and danced in the rain like you were a giddy puppy. Please just give me one more chance to find him."

And for a minute Blaine felt like Kurt was right. That all his words and pleads were real and the shade of his eyes was almost right, as if he could toss himself into their depths and get lost in this man all over again. The way the morning glow bathed his face and made him look like a fallen angel. "'People change'. I'm not who I 'used to be', this is me  _now_  and I don't want your pity-party. I don't want your promised safety or your false hope because you gave me that four years ago.  _Four years ago_ , Kurt, and I was stupid enough to trust you then. But not now, not this time. I don't need you to come back and fucking try to 'fix' me so you can be the hero." Blaine shook his head, stepping down off the last riser and starting for the door before freezing. He was fucking trapped. He changed direction, moving to sit behind the teacher's desk.

Realization flashed across Kurt's face as his gaze dropped to the floor and he took a step forward. "You're right, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? This is all  _my_  fault. You're like this because of  _me_  and I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I shouldn't have come back here, I just..." And then he was backing towards the door and the satisfied smirk that had peeled over Blaine's face dropped off as quickly as it had come. "I'm just sorry."

"You're telling me everything I already knew, so hats off to you for reiteration, good sir." Blaine leaned back in his chair, arms crossing tightly over his chest as he schooled his expression into the cold and unforgiving one he usually donned. "Are you actually leaving or did you plan on coming back once you've found a reason to 'save me'?"

Something hard slid over Kurt's face as he pulled himself back up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest ever so slightly. "I'm glad you got your way. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a wedding to plan with a man who is slowly driving me insane with ever kiss, every touch, and every fucking breath. I can't be with him and I thought that was because of you, but now I know I was wrong. It's my fault, all my fault, just like everything else. It's my fault for picturing your eyes every time I look at him and my fault for wanting it to be your arms around me when we cuddle and my fault for knowing I wouldn't be picturing anyone else but you when I stand up at the altar."

And then the dam broke. And it was fucking stupid because he shouldn't be letting himself get roped back into this mess. He should be the bigger man and leave and make Kurt know how it felt to watch him walk away. To bear his soul and confess just to have them run for the hills and leave you alone and aching and  _dying_. And God knows Kurt deserved it. He deserved a broken heart, a broken  _soul_. He deserved being told no.

Except Blaine was too fucking weak and the tears that overflowed sparkling and lonely blue-green eyes filled with so much remorse dragged Blaine into the current. "If I give you my number, will you stop stalking me?" he whispered into the silent room, arms sliding from his chest to wrap around his torso as his eyes fell to his beat up Converse.

"Yes," Kurt breathed out. And it was almost too fast, too sudden. As if he'd been waiting for Blaine to give in and that was nerve wracking because he'd let Kurt win. Blaine gave a little nod, barely a twitch of his head as he reached for the sticky notes on the desk, writing down his number with a pen before extending his scar-riddled arm towards Kurt hesitantly.  _Look at what you did to me. Look how much you fucking made me hurt._

Kurt's eyes were sealed to his forearm as he took the slip of paper slowly. "Oh, Blaine." He tugged the curly haired man closer slightly, fingertips running over the raised lines. And that's when Blaine lost it, ripping his arm out of Kurt's grip as he stumbled back towards the desk.

"Go. I think you should go now." And it was like the club all over again. His chest was heaving as if he'd run miles. Kurt just nodded, stepping back slowly to the door and closing it behind himself with a click.

Blaine sunk to the floor, back grinding over the edge of the desk as he hit the tile. He pulled his knees up to his chest, arms wrapping around them as he rocked slightly and the tears began to spill over.

 


	7. You're Trying To Find The You That You Once Had

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Sober by P!nk.

_When it's good then it's good, it's so good till it goes bad,_   
_Til **you're trying to find the you that you once had**._   
_I have heard myself cry, "Never again,"_   
_Broken down in agony, just tryin' find a friend._

He'd made it home around 1:30p.m., cheeks stained with tears tracks as he shook not from the cold. The apartment was empty, eerily quiet which was surprising given Christian's track record for babying him. The lights were all flicked off, blinds pulled shut and casting the room in shadow that it barely saw. The sound of the ever-rumbling heating unit was a barely there murmur and Blaine's ears almost seemed to ring with the silence. It was as if his roommate never existed. As if the persistent man that he could actually call a friend just vanished off the face of the Earth.

 

It was 5:21p.m. when he got the text.

**I'm so glad we're talking again.**

Blaine set down his phone, eyes squeezing shut as his head smacked against the cupboard. The device slid off his thigh, clattering to the tile floor of the mini-kitchen that sounded far too loud in the silent house. And what the fuck was he supposed to say to that? 'Oh man, me too. Let's be best friends.'

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he let out a groan. Why the hell did this stupid man insist on ruining his fucking life even more than he already had? He was supposed to be gone after that day at the coffee shop. Blaine was never supposed to have to deal with cerulean eyes that could read every twitch of his face and long, light fingers that knew every line of his body ever again.

Except here he was, struggling through seeing him all over again and it was just another hole punched into Blaine's heart. He was only human, and he could only take so much before he was broken. Blaine let out a harsh sounding laugh, the noise grating out through his nose as he dropped his forehead down to rest on the knees he pulled up against his chest. He was already broken.

 

It'd been hours since the text message –five if he was exact. Blaine had migrated from the floor to the island, sliding onto one of the stools in a way that felt far too familiar to ever be healthy. His head hung between his shoulders, neck of a beer bottle swaying slightly between his fingertips.

_Please make me feel alive again._

_Come back to me._

His phone was still sitting on the floor beside the fridge, screen dark as it had been since Kurt had texted. Two dark bottles were pushed to the side, staring at him as if mocking.  _Why are you drinking, Blaine? You're being a baby._  He didn't know if he even wanted to answer Kurt. Did he expect him to?

_Leave your fiancé, I need you more than he does._

_Fix me._

Blaine leaned back slightly, downing the rest of the drink before pushing the glass to rest with the others. He wasn't drunk, he didn't like to get drunk at home because the most he could do was get outrageously high and probably end up overdosing.

He cast his eyes back towards the phone. On one hand, answering Kurt would feel like relief; like he could breathe and not worry the other man because that's what he was doing. Blaine knew him well enough to know that he was doing that thing he did when he was anxious, probably pushing off his feelings as if they didn't matter because he was Kurt Hummel and he didn't like people knowing when he was aching.

But on the other, would it make Blaine feel better? Would the weight come off his chest and would he stop hurting over someone he lost? Probably not.

_Come back to me._

_I need you._

_I want you._

Blaine slid off the stool, scooping his phone off the floor before retreating to his bedroom.

 

The carpet was starting to get hard. Which was stupid because it was carpet, it was supposed to be soft. He had a perfectly functional bed, why Blaine sat on the floor was a question he didn't have the answer to.

Maybe it was the way his ass slowly started to ache after awhile, a reminder of how long he'd been sitting around thinking because he was never good at keeping track of time. His cell phone sat in the middle of the room, face up where he'd dropped it when he entered.

 

_"Blaine," Kurt's voice was breathy when he finally answered the house phone after the sixth ring, "please answer your Godforsaken cell phone before you give me an aneurism."_

_"I've been doing homework?" It came out as a question, Blaine's tone riddled with confusion as he pulled the device in question out of his pocket. "Holy shit, Kurt! You'd think the world was burning._ 19 _messages."_

_"You weren't answering and you usually always answer and I got worried." Blaine could tell that Kurt was doing that anxious thing; rubbing his fingers together uneasily as he chewed his bottom lip and rocked ever so slightly in a way he thought wasn't noticeable. Blaine noticed._

_"There's nothing to be worried about, I'm okay." Blaine let out a little chuckle that he immediately wished he could suck back in his stupid mouth because there was every possibility that he may not have been okay._

_"You can't scare me like that when I have no way of knowing. I swear to God I'll install baby monitors in your bedroom."_

_"Kinky."_

_"Blaine Anderson!"_

 

Come to think of it, his back hurt, too. And his foot was numb. He felt so useless, so unproductive because he could probably sit there all night and think about absolutely zilch and be fine with it. He could stare at the blank wall across the room that would have been smothered in superhero posters if he was still the same boy he was in high school and have nothingness running through his head. Life changes people, and Blaine was finally realizing how much that sucked.

It was nearing midnight, the clock on his nightstand betraying how much time had passed. And it felt like nothing. It felt like he'd just sat down and gotten comfortable and it'd already been two hours. Blaine let out a sigh, head tilting back to lean against the edge of his mattress and eyes watching the stucco ceiling.

Why couldn't he be normal? Why couldn't he have lived a normal life with a family that loved him? Why couldn't he have made it out alive? Because right now, he wasn't living; he was existing.

The wooden box still sat on his dresser, bronze wire pressed into the surface glinting slightly in the artificial light of his bedroom. Except this time, he wasn't tempted. He didn't have the usually overwhelming urge to get off the floor and tear up his arm until he couldn't feel anymore.

 

_The noise the glass made once it hit the wall was sickening, painful shards that felt like Blaine's life shattering against the brick. The tears kept flowing over, blurring his eyes as he tried in vain to wipe them dry. The box his mother had made with him when he was in kindergarten was at his side, resting in the grass with an open lid as the sunlight seemed to make the swirls of metal glow._

_Blaine dropped into the greenery, fingers twining into his hair and ripping slightly at the gel job as he let out a pitiful sob. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. He was never supposed to feel the way he did right now. He was supposed to be happy, singing and holding hands with his beautiful boyfriend as they planned out the rest of their lives together._

_Not like he was dying, as if there was a hole punched through his chest and he couldn't breathe because the tears just kept coming and he couldn't stop shaking and why couldn't he_ breathe _?_

 

1:47a.m.

 

_He was still crying, although the shakes had stopped and he was composed enough to get up out of the dirt. Blaine scooped the box off the grass, walking to the wall where he began to scoop up the remains of both the glass heart and his own._

 

2:38a.m.

 

_Funny how what was left of his heart was in a box that only held pain. It was like the ultimate torture chamber._

 

3:17a.m.

 

Blaine picked up his phone off the carpet slowly, fingertips running over the screen.

_I love you_.

He still didn't know what to say. Still didn't know how the fuck he was supposed to answer that stupid text message. He almost wished he'd never met Kurt. Wished he never had to deal with all the baggage that came with oceanic eyes and high laughs and nimble fingers.


	8. Don't Come Back For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some reviews on FF about this giving off a Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri sort of vibe so huzzah. Warnings for talk of suicide and self-harm.

_And who do you think you are?_

_Running around leaving scars,_

_Collecting your jar of hearts,_

_And tearing love apart._

_So_ _**don't come back for me** _ _._

_Who do you think you are?_

 

He shouldn't have answered it. He should have just turned off his phone and ignored Kurt because now all he could think about was how long it would take for the other man to send another. Would he even? Blaine wasn't in control anymore and it was scary as all hell.

Blaine rolled over with a sigh, grey morning light filtering through his blinds and drenching the room in shades. It was as if the sunrise that was expected to splash over the walls and fill the space with life was sucked of all its colour; vibrancy gone and leaving dull emptiness in its place. And that's what it was; it was  _empty_. The same way Blaine felt.

He didn't know what time it was, but judging by the light it was probably 8 or 9 a.m. The sheets twisted around his waist and legs, almost clinically bleached threads scratching at his skin. Blaine's cell phone was laying face down on the carpet, slid across the floor to touch the wall guard. Part of him wanted to check it, to see if Kurt responded; God knows he was already awake, never one for sleeping in. Had he read it? Thought about it? Was he just as fucking broken up about everything as Blaine? It had seemed like it the day before, but Kurt was a lot stronger than he was.

 

And then there were voices; voices that were definitely not his roommate. They sounded far too familiar and yet so foreign to his sleep-addled brain. Blaine froze in the middle of the living room, eyes watching the door as the noises got closer. He inched toward the window, fingers touching at the latch as flight took over fight.

"Apartment two-twenty-one."  _Shit_.

He pulled the fire escape window closed just as the doorknob twisted. The metal frame was slicked over with snow, freezing Blaine's feet as he pressed against the wall. This couldn't be happening.  _Why was this happening?_  He should have just stayed inside; hid behind the door and fucking knocked them both out because this was  _his_  house. They shouldn't be able to scare him away from his own home.

Blaine's breath swirled around his nose, curling in the air as a reminder of the temperature. Their voices echoed around the apartment and against the glass that was barely centimetres from his fingertips. He wanted more than anything to peek in and watch them, to see  _him_. Except he shouldn't want to.

Blaine stepped away from the wall, turning to look over the railing. One move. One fucking step and he'd be done. He wouldn't have to deal with being alive anymore.

But he was a coward; he was a coward and even the thought of taking his admittedly pitiful life made his stomach roil. His fingers clenched around the painted black bar, paint rusted away in places and iced over. It'd be so easy.

"I need to see something." Blaine spun as the familiar sound of his bedroom door creaking open jolted him from his thoughts.  _No_. His toes burned from the cold, bare torso stinging in the frozen air. His palms scraped against the brick wall once again, leaning around the edge to watch the man in his room through slits in the maroon blinds.

Kurt was at his dresser, fingertips grazing over the intricate swirls of metal design on the box. Blaine couldn't see his face when it was opened, but he could hear the quiet sob that fell from Kurt's lips. One hand was covering his mouth when he turned slightly, giving Blaine a profile view as the strip of photos of them together that was clenched in his fingers shook slightly. And he did look so broken; standing there holding the pictures that were stashed with Blaine's self-harm material. Because honestly, it was an object of use all on its own. Good, he deserved to hurt. He deserved to feel everything Blaine felt when he looked at that stupid picture.

And then Kurt was moving toward his closet, fingers grazing through his clothing in a way that was so  _Kurt_  before reaching for the top shelf and pushing aside the blankets stacked there. It was a shoebox, off-blue from the dust it'd collected and lid torn at a corner. It was the shoebox he'd thought of burning so many times and he suddenly regretted not doing so. Because now Kurt had it, he had it and he was touching at the pictures of people who were once his friends and pulling out bowties with almost loving fingers.

 

_"You have so many of these." Kurt's thumb brushed at the edge of the bowtie that sat in the hollow of Blaine's throat. "Where do you even keep them all?"_

_"I like them," he replied simply, smile gracing his lips, "and the top shelf of my closet. I have a box." Kurt's finger lingered at the corner, mouth twitching up to match Blaine's._

_"They're cute, and they make you even cuter."_

 

And playbills; there were so many playbills. Ranging from Annie to Wicked and alphabetized. He remembered that much. He remembered sitting on his bedroom floor back in Ohio and sorting them, a little smile pulled across his lips as he chewed the lower one.

He couldn't breathe; the icy air was constricting his lungs, catching in his throat and strangling him. Kurt slid the lid back over the cardboard and nudged it onto the shelf before spinning to sit down on the edge of Blaine's mattress. His eyes seemed to scan the room slowly, as if he were probing into Blaine's head and taking all of his thoughts. He was in Blaine's  _sanctuary_  for Christ sake.

And then something broke across Kurt's face and he was up off the bed, swishing through the room toward the dresser once more. He paused, as if he were looking for something before giving up and taking the box as he left, the hinges of the door creaking once again.

Blaine quickly pushed open his window, sliding in and hissing in pain as his frozen feet ground across the carpet slightly. It was gone. It was gone because Kurt fucking took it. He took his release; his oxygen, life, memories,  _heart_  – the glass heart, of course. Blaine didn't even think he had one of his own anymore. If he ran he could stop them. He could stop them from leaving and take back his stolen belongings and lock himself away.

The front door clicked shut almost silently and the deadbolt slid into place. Too late. He was too late, like always; he was always missing his chance. And then he was pacing. His fucking feet hurt and he was still so cold that he was shaking but he didn't care. He left the room, pushing into the bathroom and turning on the tap to fill his hands with water. It probably didn't help that it was cold water but he honestly didn't give a shit. The water stung his cheeks, catching in the ringlets that hung over his forehead and falling back to the rich porcelain sink bowl. Blaine glanced up at his reflection; heavy purpling bags slung low under his eyes and his skin had lost all its vibrancy –all its life. He was so fucking empty that even his skin gave it away.

" _Blaine, you're better than this. You're so much better. Think of all the things that you could have become."_ His eyes flicked to the figure behind him, chestnut hair swooping up off his forehead with an elegant twist at the tip and bright blue watching Blaine in the mirror. And when he looked back at himself he was different. His now dull and almost scummy brown eyes were bright and amber and alive; his skin was clear and smooth and his unruly hair was combed to its immaculate gelled posture. He looked the way he did in high school; he looked like he had hope.

" _Just look at you,_ " the high voice was almost disembodied, figure behind him unmoving, " _you're a mess. You're_ disgusting _. Look at what you did to yourself._ " And his reflection snapped back into place, back into the drooping empty eyes, messy hair, cracked lips, and blotchy skin. Blaine's eyes misted over, fingers grasping at the edge of the sink.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he rasped out, barely able to breathe past the suffocating thump in his throat.

" _You did this to yourself._ " He chewed on his lip, head slumping between his shoulders. Because it was true. He'd done it all to himself.

"Leave me alone."

" _It's your fault._ "

"I said leave me alone."

" _You're such a fucking embarrassment._ "

Blaine spun on a heel and the doorway was empty. Except turning back to the mirror and there he was. Standing there and mocking him as if Blaine didn't already know that everything was something he could have prevented. "Go away!" There was a sickening crack as the mirror shattered; fractures of glass peeling away as he retracted his fist. Now his reflection was just as broken as he was.

Blaine's fingers traced over the cracks, knuckles stinging where the shards had cut into him. He dug his nails behind a particular piece with a smooth edge that he knew from experience was sharp. Blaine ran the edge over the soft inside of his wrist, not enough to break the skin. It was perfect.

He glanced back up at his own face.  _I'm done. I can't live like this anymore._ And no matter how much of a coward he was, he knew when something wasn't worth saving.


	9. Losing My Mind, Losing Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very important chapter to me for very personal reasons. In 2010 I lost my best friend to suicide. I went over to his house to see him and found him on his bedroom floor; the ambulance didn't show up fast enough and he died in my arms. So I write Christian's P.O.V from a personal point of view, which will be marked with a ~oOo~. This song is, if you don't know it, Cough Syrup by Young The Giant. Enjoy! And I promise that it'll get better, eventually. Trigger warnings for sex, self-harm, and an attempt at suicide.

_Life's too short to even care at all,  
I'm losing my mind,_ _ **losing my mind, losing control.**_ __  
These fishes in the sea they're staring at me.  
A wet world aches for a beat of a drum.

_Kurt's lips were so soft, pressing gently and yet insistently against his own. He was a warm, solid weight on top of Blaine, just heavy enough to ground him and make him feel human. Kurt broke the kiss with a turn of his head, inhaling sharply against Blaine's cheek._

_"I love you." The words were barely audible, just a whisper of breath over the darker haired boy's skin. It was so intimate and sweet and wonderful._

_"I love you, too." Blaine's fingertips traced up the center of Kurt's back, palms settling at the bottom of his shoulder blades. Kurt pulled back slightly, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of Blaine's head as he gave a little smile; kissed-red lips slightly puffy and shiny with spit. He chewed the lower with a little smile, rocking his hips forward with a purposeful drag that made Blaine's head fall back and his back arch with a high moan. He felt so good –_ they  _felt so good together._

_"God, Kurt, we just came. How is this even possible?" Blaine's hands slid lower once again, dropping from his shoulders to gently cup the healthy swell of Kurt's ass with slightly digging fingers._

_"I want you to fuck me." Kurt's pupils were blown wide, a midnight blue ring surrounding them as if it were an invitation; an invitation into the depths of the ocean in his eyes. And he sounded so sure, so strong, and so ready, as if he'd been thinking about it for quite some time. And knowing Kurt, he probably had been; he was always so thorough about everything._

_"Oh God, are you sure? This isn't just on a whim because you're still horny?" Blaine raised an eyebrow, tilting his chin down to look up at his boyfriend from under his eyelashes._

_"Weeks."_

_"What?"_

_"I've been thinking about it for weeks. Thinking about how good I want you to make me feel. I want you to fill me and make me feel whole. And then maybe next week we can switch." And this was so unlike Kurt. Just a few months ago even the topic of sex would reduce him to a blubbering, blushing mess. Except here he was, going on and giving Blaine explicit imagery that he wasn't sure he could ignore._

_"God, Kurt._ Yes _. Yes, I want that, too." Kurt gave him a sly little smile, rolling their hips once more and wringing quiet moans from the both of them. "Do you have what we need?"_

 _"Blaine Anderson, I have been thinking for weeks, that means I've been prepared for_ weeks _. Nightstand drawer." Kurt's mouth dropped to his collarbone, tongue laving over the area before sucking the skin between his lips._

_"Really? It's not hidden away in some locked box in the top of your closet labelled 'Narnia'?" Blaine let out a little squeak as Kurt's teeth bit into his skin._

_"I will blue-ball you, don't think I won't."_

_"Feisty."_

_And they were perfect together. Moving fluidly against each other as if it was what they were made to do. There were no second guesses, no worrying if the other liked what they were doing because they knew. Blaine knew by the shift in the muscles of Kurt's back as he worked him open with a skilled tongue and deft fingers whether or not he was comfortable. It'd always been that way with them, they always just seemed to know what the other needed._

_Kurt let out a high moan, back arching beautifully as his cheek rubbed against the pillow. "Need you. Need you now."_

_"Yeah, yeah, okay. Right. Um, roll over?" Blaine slowly pulled out his fingers, trying not to smile at the hiss of discomfort from his boyfriend as he was emptied. Kurt twisted around on the bed, flopping onto his back and dropping open his knees, wiggling his finger in a little 'come hither' motion. And it was silly. Wasn't sex supposed to be well... sexy? Except they managed to balance the two, able to be goofy one second and heated the next and if he was honest, Blaine thought it was amazing._

_He gave a little giggle that should have made him self-conscious as he nearly shimmied his way between the taller boy's spread legs. And there was no looking back, there were no regrets – just love._

Blood. There was so much blood. Blaine's head lolled back against the bathroom wall, cheek brushing against the towel that hung down from the rack. It was that one that was so much longer than all the rest of them and Christian hated it. But it was Blaine's, so it didn't matter. His eyes fell to the shard of glass that had broken in several places where it struck the floor when it was dropped. It'd been so much easier than he thought it was going to be.

There were three cuts; one across each wrist and one halfway up his right thigh and it had just been so easy. Blaine didn't think about who he could hurt, he didn't think about what Christian would feel when he eventually came home and found him dead on the bathroom floor. He didn't think about the way that he knew Kurt would cry, blue-green eyes so bright and swimming in tears.

He didn't think about it because he just didn't care anymore.

_They were on a blanket, the lush green grass ruffled by the wind and the scent of dirt that should have been unappealing but somehow wasn't surrounding their little clearing; their little sanctuary._

_"This is so cliché," Kurt giggled, crossing his legs and opening the picnic basket that he'd made up._

_"But so romantic." Blaine gave a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, grinning as another peel of high laughter fell from Kurt's lips and he hurried to cover his mouth with a hand._

_"You're so weird."_

_"You love it."_

_"Unfortunately."_

_"Fortunately. For me, anyways." Kurt smiled at the blanket, doing that shy little thing where he dropped his gaze and chewed the inside of his lip._

_"Sap." The taller boy turned to dig in the basket, fingers pushing around its contents and fishing out their prepared sandwiches. "Blaine, why is there ketchup in here?" Kurt's eyebrows scrunched together slightly as he pulled out the object in question._

_"You made scrambled eggs, too. They aren't complete without ketchup." Blaine leaned forward to snatch the bottle, making a little grabby-hand motion in the direction of their food._

_Kurt wrinkled his nose, slowly passing the basket to Blaine whose face lit up in success. "You're revolting."_

_"Yup," he drew out the vowel with a little smile as he uncapped the ketchup._

He was getting cold. It was slowly but he definitely was. Blaine couldn't feel the majority of his hands, fingers twitching feebly where they lay on the now stained tile. He could feel his heartbeat everywhere; chest, legs, the hands he couldn't feel. It was getting faster; which was completely stupid because wouldn't you think that as you died your heart would beat slower? The air held an irony tang that almost stung his nose except it was somehow comforting.

_Kurt gave a little shriek, hand moving towards his face and fingertip pressed between his lips. "Paper cut," he whined around the digit, pushing the French textbook away with his toes and giving it a steamy glare._

_Blaine chuckled, leaning his jaw into his palm and looking up at his boyfriend. "You're so cute. Even when you're trying to be vicious." Kurt's eyes narrowed slightly as he slowly retracted his hand._

_"Only cute?" If he were a cat, his tail would be lashing. God, he looked like a fucking predator._

_"Among other things. Kurt, don't."_

_"Cute."_

_"Kurt. You're going to knock off my work and then I'll have to reorganize it. Do not."_

_"I'm being cute, Blaine. I'm cute."_

_"Kurt!" Blaine squawked as papers went flying and he was landed with a boy on his chest._

He was so cold. His eyes swam with black splotches as he slid from his position slumped against the wall. Blaine's cheek hit the linoleum with a smack that probably should have hurt. The pipes under the sink were such a grotesque colour – or maybe it was just him. Blaine drew in a shaky breath, eyelids flickering shut. He was so tired and so cold and when would it be over? If he knew it was going to take so long he would have done something far messier. His heart was thumping ever faster which he still didn't understand. When would it be over?

~oOo~

Rachel was wonderful. She was beautiful and sweet, and even if she did talk a lot about herself, it came from a place of caring. Of wanting people to know how she felt about herself and there was something admirable about that. Christian knew he'd never be able to feel so strongly about himself; sometimes it was hard enough to validate his clothing choices in the morning.

But she was somehow adorable about talking about herself, which was something that not very many people could achieve.

Christian smiled as she prattled on about Broadway and her huge dreams for the fifth time in ten minutes and he found it hard to be annoyed with her. How could he ever be upset with someone talking about their passion? Her voice was a constant stream in his ear, cell phone making it sound much more tinny and unappealing than it did face-to-face.

"Okay, Rachel honey, I have to go. I need to make lunch before his majesty gets home or he'll be grumpy. Lunch tomorrow?" He smiled as she gave a little squeal and a vigorous affirmation. It was nice to finally be able to see people again. He hung up with a little airy sigh, dropping the device in the pocket of his slacks and digging for his keys. After becoming the manager at the bar, Christian's social life had swirled down the toilet. He simply never had time. It was either school or work or sleep, there was no in between. It wasn't as if he had a problem with it, he didn't mind not having much company because he was a rather independent person; but being able to have other people at his disposal was a relief.

After fighting with the finicky deadbolt that never seemed to want to cooperate, he was finally home. His day had been cut early, classes ending because of the risk of blowing snow – not like that would have stopped New Yorkers anyways, they had too many places to be. But nevertheless, he was thankful. Any time that he could use for himself was time well wasted.

The apartment was silent, as it usually was when Blaine was absent and that was a rare occurrence all on its own. Christian hung his keys on the nail in the coat rack, shucking his coat and sliding out of his shoes with a little yawn. He didn't know when Blaine would be back, or even where he went – would he come back? His bedroom door had been closed when Christian got home late the night before, so it was safe to assume that he had returned at some point.

He made his way down the short hallway, having missed his morning routine bathroom break. The bathroom door was closed. Was Blaine already home? Christian tapped his knuckles against the wood gently, calling out his roommate's name. No answer. Something cold and wet was beginning to drench the toes of his socks. The first thing that came to mind was that Blaine decided to be a dick and run a bath too deep not for the first time. The hallway was too dark to see what it was. Christian leaned back, flicking on the light and glancing at his - crimson red toes.  _Blood_.

He twisted the knob without thinking, shoving the door open with a shaky inhale. Blaine was half-slumped against the wall behind the door, arms laying limply at his sides and eyes staring unseeingly at the sink across from him. Christian felt as if all the air had been punched out of him, insides twisting cruelly and heart doing a little dance as he struggled to breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't move over the puddles of blood – Blaine's blood because he did this to himself.

And then he was crying, eyes overflowing far too quickly as he fell to his knees on the tile with a wet smack. "Blaine!" He was so cold, his fingers were like ice and he looked so lifeless, so empty. Christian fumbled with his phone, quickly dialling 911 and holding it to his ear with a shoulder as he pulled his roommate toward him, shaky fingers pressing under Blaine's jaw as he searched for a pulse point. Their normally small bathroom seemed even smaller, even more constricting as the walls seemed to press in around them. It was suffocating.

Except Blaine was alive. Christian let out a sob, dragging his friend's head into his lap and petting frantically at his hair as if that would make any difference because he just didn't know what else to do.

"911, what's your emergency?" And he didn't even remember what he said. He didn't remember telling them what happened or begging for an ambulance and crying brokenly against the microphone that they needed to hurry.

"Blaine. Blaine, please wake up. Please. You need to wake up." He couldn't breathe; the tangy metal of the blood stung his nose and the air wasn't coming fast enough. Blaine remained motionless in his lap, glazed eyes fixed on nothing in particular as his chest rose and fell with a barely there motion.

And then he was dialling his phone again, a number he definitely hadn't often enough to be able to remember it and yet somehow he did without a problem.

"Calling again so soon?" He knew that she was visibly preening, flicking her hair in that flirty little way that she did and giving a little smirk. Christian choked back another breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought to swallow around the lump wedged in his throat.

"He's dying. He tried to kill himself and I don't know what to do." The air grating in and out of his lungs was a wheeze, scratching over his tongue and hissing through his teeth.

"What?!" And then she was just as hysterical, he could almost see her tearing out her hair.

"I got home and he was on the bathroom floor and I don't know what to do. I already called 911 but what if they don't get here fast enough? What if I lose him? He's my best friend, Rachel, and I never got to tell him that he meant that much to me." There was the distant scream of sirens, but they seemed so far away; they'd never get there in time. Rachel was panicking on the other side of the line but he didn't hear a word she said, couldn't hear her over his heart pounding in his ears and the sound of his cries in the confined space.

His phone slid from its perch on his shoulder, clattering across the blood soaked floor. "You have to be okay. Please be okay. I'm so sorry, Blaine. I'm so, so sorry. I never should have pulled what I did with your dad; I should have just listened to you. You always say how you never need any help and I should have believed you because look at what I did. This is  _my_ fault and I'm so sorry." Christian's head fell forward, the tears overflowing from his eyes dripping onto his roommate's forehead and cheeks. He already felt so alone.

The front door banged open and there was the sound of voices, very professional voices that bounced off the walls and heavy, rushing footsteps that flew down the hallway. Christian was getting pulled away, a strong pair of arms under his scooping him off the floor as he cried out for his friend and struggled in the grip that dragged him from the room, eyes locked on the lifeless body strewn across the tile until he couldn't see him anymore.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a switch to Christian's P.O.V marked once again by a ~oOo~ and then it switches back to Blaine with a *oOo* so keep that in mind! Please please please read my gorgeous best friend's counter-part because without her and without her half I would be nowhere. This song is Please Don't Leave Me by P!NK. Thank you!

_I am capable of really anything,_

**_I can cut you into pieces_ ** _,_

_When my heart is broken._

_Please, don't leave me._

_I always say how I don't need you,_

_But it's always gonna come right back to this._

 

There was yelling. There were so many sirens. Or maybe it was just one. The noise jangled around in Blaine's head; a constant and insistent beeping that didn't want to stop, the whir of a siren, someone was crying and he wanted so badly to tell them to shut the fuck up. The bed (table?) he was laying on jolted slightly and he barely held back a pained groan.

Blaine tried opening his eyes, fighting against the heaviness of his eyelids to no avail. He felt so exhausted except – he was alive.  _Fuck_. He wasn't supposed to be alive. Kurt was supposed to be gone and Christian was supposed to be at school and he was supposed to fucking die. Everything was so dark, so heavy, so empty. But still breathing, and he couldn't decided what was worse.

 

_Blaine never did well with Hospitals. There was one time that his dog, Harley, was hit by a car and he didn't know what to do. His father was gone again on one of his weird business trips, Cooper was out with some girl that he always sat really close to when she came over. And it had been just Blaine and the German Sheppard._

_He threw the ball too hard, too far, and Harley jumped the fence and chased it into the middle of the road, in the path of an eighteen wheeler._

_A ten year old doesn't know what to do when their animal gets hurt. He'd dialled 911, because that's what Daddy said to do if anyone got in trouble or was bleeding._

_The paramedic was sympathetic as he got out of the ambulance and called the right number for him. Asked where Blaine's parents were. And he remembered the slight way the man's eyes narrowed when Blaine said nobody else was home._

 

_There was another time that he slipped on the ice while running up the steps after school and whacked his nose off the door. Cooper drove Blaine there himself._

_Everything seemed so bland, so blank. White halls that stretched on for what looked like forever with walls to match. His bleeding nose dripped onto the bleached linoleum, staining the empty picture with splashes of vibrant colour._

_The nurse had been kind; a sweet smile and scrubs splattered with pretty flowers as she lifted him up onto the examination table and asked him what happened. There was really no reason to fear the seemingly empty building except for exactly that. It was empty._

 

~oOo~

 

The wheels of the stretcher seemed to squeak more and more frequently the further they got down the hallway. There was so much shouting, most of which Christian didn't understand. A tall man probably around his height was struggling against the nurses grip. He was crying out Blaine's name, arms thrashing, and eyes wild as he sobbed after them. He'd caught a glimpse of Rachel with him, hand covering her mouth as her eyes poured seemingly endless tears.

And there was still so much blood. The gauze wrapped haphazardly around Blaine's wrists was already soaked through and dripping to the tile as if mocking them all, mocking that they were probably too late. That every drop that fell was another second that they were useless. He was still crying. He didn't know how long he'd been, only that when it started, it hadn't stopped. The stretcher's wheels scraped across the floor as it spun into an unoccupied room.

Sir?" A nurse – her tag said Linda – was looking up at him almost expectantly, clipboard clutched in her little hands, emerald eyes open and understanding. "Are you family?"

"I'm all he has. He has no family." The words seemed to grind through his lungs and catch in his throat, suffocating him. Linda's gaze softened substantially as she cast a glance over her shoulder.

"Come on, honey. Why don't we go sit somewhere and you can tell me what happened?" Her fingers touched gently at Christian's shoulder, squeezing reassurance into the muscle that, for some reason, put him completely at ease.

 

He'd cried so much he didn't think he could anymore. Sitting down in the tiny room, just two chairs across from each other as he poured out everything he knew had felt like he was the one dying. The waste basket was more likely than not overflowing with used tissues and Christian's eyes felt so dry that blinking was a chore.

He checked on Blaine once more, nudging the door open slightly and watching the single doctor still in the room tap at the machines a few times, and scribble something down on the clipboard that sat at the foot of Blaine's bed before disappearing into a joining room. He was stable. For now.

Christian's feet felt like lead as he all but dragged himself down the never-ending hallway towards the waiting room. He was allowed to sit in with Blaine but the idea of being at his side and forced to cry even more tears was unbearable.

"Rachel?" She looked up at him with tear stained cheeks, makeup that she hadn't bothered to fix running with it. Her eyes seemed to catch something as she reached for his hands automatically, fingers clutching his like a lifeline.

"What happened? Is he going to be alright?"

"He's okay. He's uh... Well, he's stable. For now." He gripped her hands, giving her a small smile before his gaze settled on the man watching him from over her shoulder. "You. You're the one who did this to him."

" _Christian_." God, he made his name sound so bitter, as if saying it ruined his entire day. It probably did. "How fucking dare you." The words were like venom, lashing at Christian and it  _ached_. Christian stumbled out of the cheap chair, forefinger and thumb pressing at the bridge of his nose as his eyebrows drew together, eyes sliding shut.

"What the hell are you even doing here?" Somewhere, he knew that Blaine would hate him to be fighting on his behalf. He'd hate that Christian was trying to 'fix' even more things. But not even that could deter him.

"What the hell am  _I_  doing here? I'm trying to make sure Blaine is okay. At least I try, which is more than I can say for you. Where are you when he's out high off his ass and dancing at some strip club? Huh?" The other man (Kurt? That was what Blaine said his name was, wasn't it?) slid out of his chair, chest almost brushing Christian's as he nearly visibly blazed before him.

Christian raised an eyebrow before letting out a high, broken laugh. "Where am I? I'm right here trying to make sure that he's okay because I know that I can't control another fucking person's actions if they don't want to be helped. You obviously didn't get the memo that he didn't need you around." He knew he was pushing it. Pissing off the already livid man probably wasn't helping his case at all. Except Christian was too upset to care. He was always the nice guy, always the one to look after other people and try his damn hardest to make them feel safe and cared for and having Kurt get in his face about it was pushing buttons. He heard Rachel screech something about it not being the time for whatever it was they were doing but that didn't matter. They had some things that needed sorting and a good scuff was the only thing that would solve that.

"Blaine became your responsibility when you decided to move in with him.  _You_  watched him become what he is,  _you_  watched him hurt himself, and you didn't do a damn thing about it." There was a finger thrust in his face as Kurt stepped even closer.

"He was already like that when he showed up! You really think that I would sit around and watch someone do that to themselves?" Christian's hands were in the air, palms out and waving slightly because maybe gesturing would make his point more clear. Kurt laughed, a harsh noise accompanied by an eye roll.

"Yes, Christian, I'm pretty sure that's  _exactly_  what you would do. Because while I was taking away everything he was using to hurt himself, you were at school and your supposed roommate slit both of his wrists and lay dying on the bathroom floor." Christian remembered his father talking to him about all the times he'd gotten in trouble during high school; about the way he'd beaten up so many people for being assholes and about how there was just something about it that took his sense of mind away from him. The term was 'seeing red', except that's exactly what it was. His vision flashed a cruel colour, very similar to the blood that had been pooling across the bathroom floor. And he swung.

The noise Kurt's nose made when his fist connected was a sickening crunch as he jolted back in a very cartoon fashion, head smacking against the dirtied tile with a  _crack!_  while Rachel screamed. There was blood dripping (spraying would have been a better term) from Kurt's face as he dabbed the back of his hand over his nose, glaring up at Christian. The nurse behind the receptionist desk seemed to appear out of nowhere, hands out to pull Kurt up to his feet.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Christian cradled his hand as he whispered to the floor, eyes somehow wet once more.

Kurt brushed past him, knocking their shoulders together. "I hope that made you feel better," he hissed before following the nurse.

 

*oOo*

 

_"Blaine, holy shit, what the fuck did you do to your fucking face?" Leave it to Cooper to swear as much as possible in once sentence. Blaine touched at his nose, fingers coming away tinged with red as he heaved a sigh._

_"Nothing. It's fine. Nosebleed." He waved off his brother, beginning his trek up the stairs as his bag swung on one shoulder._

_"You're lying. What happened?" Cooper was chasing him, thumping in that familiar way that Blaine had been without for the past few months. Everything had gotten so much harder when his brother moved out. His first year of high school wasn't going too bad, until the dick head in his Math class thought it would be a great idea to throw wads of paper at the back of his head to try and get answers out of him. Naturally, Blaine had tried to ignore him and brush him off, except eventually the idiot got sick of being pushed aside._

_"Blaine." Cooper grabbed his bicep, fingers digging in slightly as he spun Blaine in the hallway outside his door to look at him. "Tell me who I need to fuck up."_

_"Aren't you on television now? Shouldn't you be toning down the swearing? Go rinse your mouth with soap, you might get something out of it. Like the ability to talk like a normal functioning human being." He tried to pull away again, hand reaching for the doorknob to his bedroom._

_"Squirt, don't be a dick. I know I moved out but just because I'm working doesn't mean I don't care about you. Why do you think I came back? Because I definitely didn't come here for Dad." Cooper's face was soft when Blaine looked up at him, his fingers tightening in the strap of his bag._

_"You left me here with him. Alone. How's that supposed to make me feel?" Blaine yanked his arm out of his brother's grip, shouldering open the door and tossing his school bag onto the floor beside his bed._

_"Blaine, you know I had to go. I have to make a life for myself; I can't just stay behind with you because you need me to look after you all the time."_

_"I don't need you all the time, Cooper! I need you_ sometimes _, because that's what older brothers are for! You're supposed to be here to help me when I need you to because God knows Dad won't do anything. The least you could do is get me a cell phone so that I can talk to you!" He threw his hands up, waving them around his head as his eyes welled up with tears. "I know that you can't be here. I_ know _that. But you could try to make sure that I'm okay. Because I'm not." Blaine slumped down onto the edge of his bed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he let out a pitiful sob._

_"Oh, Blainey. I'm so sorry." Cooper's arms circled his shoulders as he sat beside Blaine, tugging the younger boy's head against his chest and petting a hand through the hair all but plastered to his skull._

_"The people at school are assholes. I hate them all so much." Blaine wrapped his arms around his brother's waist, squeezing his eyes shut against Cooper's throat._

_"What did they do? What are they doing?"_

_"They beat me up, Coop. Today, one of the guys in my class cornered me at lunch and hit me until I gave him the money Dad left me for lunch. I had fifty dollars. It was supposed to last all week and he took it. I can't tell Dad because then he'll beat me up, too. I hate this so much. I hate being alive." Cooper stiffened beside him, arms tightening slightly before he shifted away enough to look at his brother._

_"I'll give you a hundred. That way you have your money for this week and you can save the other fifty for when this happens again. If it weren't illegal I'd beat the shit out of them for you, Kiddo." His thumb brushed gently over the crest of Blaine's cheek, swiping at the wetness there. "We can go looking for cell phones tomorrow if that's something you really want."_

_"Yes, please. Thank you, Coop."_

 

There was something about his weird, blood loss induced sleep. He shouldn't have been able to hear anything; he shouldn't have been able to feel. Except there were no other explanations for the gentle fingertips brushing over his wrist and clutching his hand, the wet, warm tears dripping onto his forearm.

"I'm so sorry, Blaine. I should've listened to you. I should've stayed with you so long ago. I'm so sorry." It was a high voice, and one he couldn't put a face to, which was stupid because he felt like it was the voice of someone he'd known his whole life. It could have been a girl; it could have been his mother. Did she finally come back for him? Why couldn't she have returned when he could talk, when he could move and tear a strip out of her for fucking walking away from him? Everything was so fucking cruelly unfair.

And she was sobbing, high choking noises as cool, long fingers pressed into his. And then the hands were gone and the sheet was being pulled away and there was a weight beside him, the body of his visitor slowly easing down onto the bed beside him. There was the touch of what felt like a cheek on his chest and – no, it definitely wasn't his mother. Hair he knew was elegantly curved upward brushed his throat and the bottom of his chin and the overwhelming scent of mangoes and coconut clogged his nose.

" _I forgot to say out loud how beautiful you really are to me_.  _I cannot be without, you're my perfect little punching bag._   _And I need you, I'm sorry. Baby, please don't leave me._ Please don't leave me." And it was sung so softly, so brokenly against Blaine's chest and he wished more than anything that he could just sit up. That he could wrap Kurt up into his arms and kiss into his hair and promise that everything would be okay, even if he knew it wouldn't. It was worth seeing the smile on his face. He could feel the tears soaking through the hospital gown and it just made everything ache more.

Until it didn't.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song is Turning Tables by Adele. Any former warnings apply. Also Cooper! Because I had a wonderful review about how someone wanted to see Cooper come to life and look at that, I made it happen.

_So I won't let you close enough to hurt me._

_No, I won't ask you to_ _**just desert me** _ _._

_I can't give you what you think you gave me._

_It's time to say goodbye to turning tables._

 

It was 3:21p.m when his phone rang with an unknown number. "Hello?" By now Cooper was used to the occasional random phone call from either a crazed fan that had managed to get a hold of his number or from Blaine whenever he was just calling to say hi while using one of his friend's phones just to keep his brother on his toes.

"Cooper Anderson?" It was an unfamiliar voice and decidedly male. It didn't sound excited the way a fanboy would, meaning that this man was all business. Maybe it was about that callback for Lord of the Rings.

"Speaking."

"You need to come to New York. I'm sorry that this is so sudden and I really don't have an explanation but you need to be here." And that's where it got confusing. Why did he have to go to New York? There was nothing there except Broadway (which is dead, by the way) and— _Blaine_.

"What happened? What's wrong with Blaine?" It all tumbled out too quickly and he was out the door so fast he almost forgot to lock it. He flicked on his Bluetooth, already opening the app to get a plane ticket.

"You're just as quick as he is; I see where he gets his sharpness." The man's tone was resigned; he seemed so tired. "There was a... um... an accident. Not really an accident per-say."

"Cut to the chase, kiddo. I'm already hunting a plane ticket." Cooper thumped down the two flights of stairs to the lobby, shoving open the frosted glass doors with far more force than necessary.

"He tried to kill himself and he's in the hospital." He almost fell flat on his face, dress shoe catching a crack in the sidewalk and forcing him stumbling into the side of his car.

"He  _what_? Are you sure it's my brother?"

"Blaine Anderson. I'd assume so considering you were the name written under emergency contacts. He doesn't seem like the guy to want to invite a random stranger into his life."

 

It was around 10:30p.m when he ended up making it to New York. Rushing to grab a last minute ticket for 4 o'clock had been hectic, not to mention his lack of clothing and luggage. It was either the time zone jump or stress that had induced the headache that pounded in his skull. He suspected the latter seeing as flying never affected him before. As a child he always remembered being thrilled about the idea of New York. Skyscrapers that seemed to hold to their name and touch the sea of blue above; lights that went on forever and bridges that stretched unfathomable distances. But that was in the mind of a child.

Now, all but sprinting from the airport to hail a taxi, the city seemed far less appealing. It was loud and cold and the snow that dusted the pavement was going to be hell to his shoes. He'd gotten the hospital address from what's-his-face that had called him (Christian?) and after finally getting a cab, he was on his way.

He wished he could tell the asshole driving to stop talking on the phone and go faster or else he wouldn't get paid. Unfortunately, he couldn't afford to be a dick unless he felt like walking. Cooper drummed his fingers against the headrest of the seat in front of him, earning a glare from the driver over his shoulder. His cell phone felt heavy in his pocket, ringer turned on for what felt like the first time ever in case he got a call.

The cars surrounding the taxi honked and swerved, manic as always as he was eased through the traffic and ever closer to his brother. How bad was the damage? Had he tried to hang himself? How had he attempted it? Was he ever going to be okay? Cooper sucked in a shuddering breath, teeth biting into his lower lip as he closed his eyes. He was such a fucking idiot. He didn't know who to blame more. Did he blame himself? Because it was him that ran away to University and left Blaine behind to deal with their dickhead of a father. Did he blame said dickhead?

His forehead thumped against the headrest in front of him and he let out a quiet groan. Or was it just Blaine's fault because he was an idiot? He had always been stupid, always trying to get into trouble even when there was really no reason to, which was exactly what made Blaine his brother.

 

The car seemed to pull to a stop far too slowly, which was rather redundant. Cooper tossed a few measly bills at the driver, muttering something about keeping the change that even he didn't understand before bolting for the doors. His polished shoes squeaked unhappily against the sterile floors as he made his way toward the receptionist desk.

"Could you tell me what room Blaine Anderson is in? It's kind of important." His eyes flicked everywhere but at her face, fingernails tapping out a mangled beat against the hardtop of the counter.

"Are you family?" Her voice was almost bored and he heard the pop of bubblegum. How fucking cliché.

"Yes, I'm family." He pulled out his wallet, searching for his ID before sliding the card under her nose. He finally risked a glance at her then, and it was definitely worth the look on her face. To watch the way her eyes bugged out slightly as she glanced from the card to his face and back again. He  _almost_  felt the tingle of satisfaction from being noticed. Almost.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Anderson." She typed up a few things on her keyboard, manicured nails tapping with practised speed as she cast him shy looks every few seconds. "Intensive care unit, C wing, room 221."

And he was gone, all but dashing down the hallway and calling back a measly thank you over his shoulder.

 

Cooper all but threw himself into the door, struggling with the handle to an embarrassing degree before it finally swung open. And there, slouched in the bedside chair against Blaine's cot, was the one person he didn't even think of blaming until now. Kurt. "You did this."

He barely moved from his sunken position in the armchair, "Haven't we already settled this? Or was that punch not enough?" he spat before slowly turning to face him. His breath stuttered and something else washed over his face. "Cooper."

"You did this to him, didn't you?" He took a step into the room, pushing the door closed with a barely-there click before moving towards the bed in the middle with purpose, intentionally circling around the end away from Kurt to his brother's other side.

"Cooper, n-no, no I didn't do anything," he practically croaked, fingers tight around the arms of the chair. "He—Blaine did this to himself. I tried to stop it, Cooper, I tried so hard, but—"

"You didn't fucking try hard enough, Kurt," he snapped, shooting the other man an icy glare before leaning down and pressing a kiss into Blaine's messy hair. "I know that you left him. I  _know_ what happened. I know because he called me that night and went on and on while he fucking cried his eyes out because you  _left_  him, Kurt. You left him alone with our bastard of a father.  _You_ were the reason that I didn't have to come back. Because I really thought for sure that because he found you, he would be okay for awhile." Cooper let out a bitter laugh, fingers touching at his brother's forearm. "Looks like I was wrong, huh?"

Kurt shook his head disbelievingly, "I thought he would be okay. I thought…that that was how Blaine was. He bounces back. I didn't think it would turn out like this. I didn't know. I'm so sorry, Cooper. If I could turn back time and fix it, I would," the words were a whisper, barely heard over the steady beeping of Blaine's heart monitor. "But I can't."

"You're right. You can't. You fucked up and at least you know that you can't fix it. Which is almost surprising in itself because you've always been so fucking hard-headed." Cooper circled the bed again, stopping to stand beside the man slumped in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Where were  _you_?" Kurt asked. "Where were you when Blaine was shooting himself up with drugs and dancing around town with every available gay man and drinking away all of his problems until his memory dissolved? I didn't know he was here and you did. What's your excuse?"

"Because I thought he was okay, Kurt! I have called him once a week for the past four years of my life to make sure that he's been okay and he's always sounded fine. Always gone on about how great life in New York was. There was nobody to call me and tell me that he was hurting behind the scenes. Because I, like you, thought he might bounce back!" He unfolded his arms, waving them about his head. "And why the  _fuck_  didn't you call me when he was put in here? Why did I have to hear it from his roommate who I didn't even know existed?"

"No.  _No_ ," Kurt snarled, nearly stumbling his way from the chair. "You do not get to push this all on me. I'm sorry that you were the last thing on my mind while I was trying to save my ex-boyfriend. I'm sorry that I forgot to ring you up all cheerily and tell you that your little brother is a drug-addicted whore. Now, wouldn't that be a merry conversation between old friends? Oh, hi Cooper, so I just met your brother at the local gay club but he was so drunk off his ass that he didn't remember me. And did I mention that I also found him sleeping in his freezing English classroom? Don't forget about the fact that he cuts himself. It was so great catching up with you!"

"Yes, I did expect you to have done that! If he wasn't going to tell me everything than maybe you should have been fucking smart enough to do it yourself! But no, it all has to be about you. You have to go around and try and fix everyone even when you can't," Cooper all but shouted as he leaned over Kurt slightly. "He's my fucking brother."

Kurt threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "He was my fucking boyfriend! I was the one who was in love with him, I was the one who held him when he cried and kissed away his tears, I was the one who gave a shit about him when he came to me with a black eye. Cooper, you fucking left him alone with that monster. I tried to get him to go for help, I tried to tell others, but he was so damn prideful that he wouldn't let me. I had to leave him because he was drowning himself and every second with him was  _killing_  me." He slumped back down. "It's still killing me."

"But you weren't there to kiss away his tears when he really needed you. He broke his wrist, did you know that? The day you broke up with him he went home crying and Dad saw him and dragged him to the kitchen and beat the fucking shit out of him. I flew home and took Blaine to the hospital myself. He  _knew_  I had to go. He told me I shouldn't stay behind to look after him, that I shouldn't sacrifice my life for him. And he said he hated you. He hated you so much because you just left him there feeling so fucking useless and alone and he  _hated_  you for it!" His voice was still ever climbing, fingers twisting in the strands of his hair.

"I can't change what I did, Cooper and I'll regret that day for the rest of my life. I tried to save him then and I'm still trying to save him now. Don't you see that, Cooper? Don't you see that I care?" Kurt wouldn't look at him, eyes trained on the stained linoleum. "I'm sorry that I didn't try harder back then."

"You're trying to put a band aid on a bullet wound, Kurt." His voice softened slightly, hands moving from his hair to slip into the pockets of his slacks and he let out a resigned sigh.

"Maybe I am. You know what? I can't save everybody and maybe I can't save anybody, but I can't stop trying. I won't give up on him, Cooper, not even if he sucks every damn shred of life out of me. I love Blaine and I know that everything is my fault, but that's exactly the reason why I can't leave him again," he exclaimed, thick tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Just don't let him down again." And with that, he was gone.

 

*oOo*

 

If Blaine could cry, he would. There was something ultimately cruel about being able to hear what was happening, being able to know that his _brother_  and Kurt were fighting  _right fucking there_  in front of him and he couldn't react. He couldn't pick a side. He couldn't  _speak_. He felt like he was on Tetrodotoxin; paralyzed but still able to feel everything.

He wanted to just wake up, to slide out of the uncomfortable bed and wrap his arms around his brother's waist and cry until he couldn't breathe. It was the one thing he wanted and the one thing he couldn't fucking have. They were yelling, raising their voices and probably getting in each other's faces and Blaine was just  _waiting_ for someone to get hit.

"I won't give up on him, Cooper, not even if he sucks every damn shred of life out of me. I love Blaine and I know that everything is my fault, but that's exactly the reason why I can't leave him again." Kurt's voice cracked, breaking at the end and he could almost feel their eyes on him. Cooper murmured something and then disappeared, door clicking shut behind him.

And Kurt was there once more, fingertips touching at his arm as his breath ghosted over the skin not covered by the gown. The tip of his nose was cold where it brushed the hair dusting his forearm. "Every word of that was true, you know," he whispered, and Blaine could feel the way his lips moved just centimetres away. "Every word."

And that was so fucking cruel. Nobody was allowed to just say those things right in front of him whether they knew he was conscious or not because that was  _fucking unfair_. It was unfair to talk about him behind his back except  _right in front of him_ and expect him to not have any reaction to it. There would be hell to pay when (if?) he woke up.

Was that all he had to look forward to anymore? Mind dropping in and out of focus interlaced with the pain of flashbacks and memories that he couldn't wipe out. Was all he had to look forward to was whether or not he would wake up?

Kurt's lips touched at the skin above the bandage on his wrist and there was a quiet sniffle. Blaine couldn't decide whether he wanted kill Kurt or kiss him, and that was the biggest problem of all.


	12. I Feel Marooned In This Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Trade Mistakes by Panic! At The Disco. O~o~O indicates a time jump. And Kurt's POV over at FF (TheyCantTouchUsOrWhatWeHave), S&C (coffeebeanklaine), or Tumblr (coffeebeanklaine). Blades of Temptation; look it up, man. Warnings for drug withdrawal.

**_I feel marooned in this body_ ** _,_

_Deserted my organs can go on without me._

_You can’t fly these wings,_

_You can’t sleep in this box with me._

_If I could trade mistakes for sheep,_

_Count me away before you sleep._

_I’ll stay awake ‘til I trade my mistakes or they fade away._

 

            After three days, Blaine lost count of them. He lived in a constant stream of nightmares broken by the occasional conversation happening in his room that stirred him to the confusing half-awake state he couldn’t explain if he tried. Knowing that Kurt was there almost all the time had begun to grate on his nerves. The nurses and doctors that flooded in and out of the room always muttered quiet things about how he should have woken up by now. He should be recovering and awake and he  _wasn’t_. Sometimes Kurt cried and all Blaine wanted to do was tell him to shut the fuck up.

            Cooper had left at some point; something about his agent being a bitch. Christian also came around; usually spending what must have been nights –judging by the quiet snoring– at his side.

            But the nightmares. They got so vivid and intense that they felt even more real than usual. Other times he wished he had the option of screaming himself awake because anything would be better than remembering. He knew Christian had nearly broken Kurt’s nose; he didn’t know how he knew, couldn’t  _remember_  how, but all he saw were shattered memories.

 

_He didn’t remember what he did. It was always the same and he always tried to figure out what he’d done wrong this time but he never understood._

_This time it was his nose, most likely broken. It was the one day he’d come home on the weekend, and it was only to grab a few books he’d wanted to pick up and he planned to go back on his way._

_William had stumbled from his study, eyes already glazed over despite it being 10 a.m. Blaine didn’t have time to run before his father was screaming. And you’d think that after seven years of the same thing, he’d be used to it. But that didn’t stop the tears from springing to his eyes and his internal struggle to not just_ run _._

 _He’d learned to partially tune out the abuse, standing with his head bowed in a feeble attempt to look guilty which he must have been a little too good at because it always succeeded. Except today, apparently, because William just_ kept shouting _. Blaine lost count of the amount of homophobic slurs (not that he was counting or anything) thrown at him. He tilted his head back up to look at his father which must have been the worst possible move he could make because he was met with a face full of fist accompanied by a sickening crunch he almost didn’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears. And then his father was gone, muttering quietly as he wobbled back to his study._

_Blaine stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, dabbing at the dripping blood that never seemed to want to stop. His phone’s internet page was open; ‘_ how to tell if you have a broken nose _’._

_He pressed at it gingerly, hissing at the pain and scrunching his eyes –which were already adopting dark indigo rings around them– closed. It looked like he had to make a stop at the clinic before returning to Dalton._

 

 _The drive from the Victorian Village Health Centre back to Westerville was a drive filled with doubt and worry. He had to tell Kurt now. There was a blood stain in the front of his once crisp white oxford and drying down the side of his neck. There was no other way to casually pass off a broken nose because Kurt would freak out and he’d know Blaine was lying because Kurt could just_ read  _him. And what would he even say to begin with? How do you lie about a broken nose that somehow happened seemingly at random over the course of_ one day _?_ “Oh man, I’m a total idiot and walked into a door.”  _He was clumsy, but definitely not to that degree and Kurt_ knew _that._

 _Blaine’s hands clutched at the steering wheel at ten and two until he was white in the knuckles. His breathing was shallow, shuddering in and out between clenched teeth. And how was he even supposed to gently broach the subject?_ “Ah yes well my father has been beating me up since I was nine, it’s no big deal, I’m used to it.”  _Yes, perfect, because that wouldn’t give his boyfriend a heart attack or anything._

 

_Far too quickly, the familiar shape of Dalton Academy loomed up in front of him, causing Blaine’s heart to stutter almost painfully and his stomach seemed to twist itself into a knot even further. Maybe if he just accidentally veered off the road and crashed into a tree he wouldn’t have to explain himself, and maybe he’d be able to pass off his busted up face that way._

_Except his father wouldn’t probably break a lot more than his nose if he found out that Blaine ruined a fifty thousand dollar car because he didn’t want to face his boyfriend._

_The painted black gates were usually welcoming in a way that they were decidedly not at the moment. Blaine parked his car in his usual spot, cutting off the engine and squeezing his fingers around the wheel once more with the hope that maybe it would turn into a Transformer and trap him inside. If only._

 

            Blaine had decided, without a doubt that his least favourite thing about this stupid coma or whatever the fuck it was, was that he couldn’t talk. The amount of snarky comebacks he’d conjured over the past however many days it was were quite literally drowning him. He wanted more than anything to just wake up and sass out the entire fucking doctor team because they were all so stupid. What would they think when he finally woke up and told them that yeah, he heard about seventy percent of what everyone in the room had been talking about?

            He was also quite curious about what had happened between Kurt and Christian. Because beyond knowing about Kurt’s nose, he was only graced with the  _palpable_ tension whenever they both seemed to be in the room. On one hand he wanted to wake up and tell them to both stop being fucking babies but on the other, it was almost amusing to watch –well, hear; semantics– them struggle.

 

O~o~O

 

Something felt wrong. Something was really wrong and he didn’t know what it was and it was concerning. Blaine was still comatose and he didn’t know how he could feel that something was wrong when he was in such a state but he could and it was driving him up the wall.

            Maybe it was the strange absence of voices in the room. Now that he thought about it, was anybody even there? Did they all give up on him? God, what if this was something stupid like that episode of  _The Walking Dead_  where he was going to wake up in the middle of an apocalypse?

            And then pain, seizing pain and he could  _see_. He could see the almost blinding bright white of his hospital room ceiling and the fluorescent lights and he could smell and breathe and he was  _awake_. And there was someone shrieking and there was this persistent beeping that didn’t seem to want to stop. And then everything went dark again.

 

            He felt like crying. He was propped up in his cot, fingers loosely intertwined as the doctor standing to the left was going over the clipboard; reading out bullshit that resembled gibberish in Blaine’s sluggish brain. He was stable, apparently. That’s all he had gathered. Christian was on his right, smiling down at him carefully and for some reason, Blaine wasn’t mad. He wasn’t pissed off at his roommate for what had happened because he was just trying to help. Blaine realized with a lump in his throat that this man was his best friend.

            He didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but he reached over and clasped Christian’s hand in his, squeezing the cold fingers and returning the watery smile. The doctor said something about having a seizure but he didn’t fucking care because it was in the past and it was done. He was alive. And he had this wonderful man for a friend and he couldn’t think of anything else he’d want right now except for the ability to go home. But that unfortunately wasn’t an option at this point.

 

            “I’m so sorry.” It’d been an hour or so since the doctor left, telling Christian to watch the heart monitor and if something happened, the call button was right beside the bed.

            “Don’t be sorry. I’m just a fucking idiot. I should be apologizing to you for being a complete asshole.” And then the door opened ever so slowly and Blaine wished more than anything he hadn’t looked over. “What’s he doing here? I want him out. I want him to leave.” The heart monitor sped up and his vision clouded over slightly.

            Kurt stepped forward, eyes wide and wet and the fingers twitching toward him made him want to die because there was no way he was getting near him. No fucking way. “Blaine... It’s me.”

            “I can see that. Don’t touch me. I want him out. Christian, I want him out.” He couldn’t breathe. He should be over this stupid shit. He should be able to be in the same room as Kurt and not have a panic attack but today didn’t seem to be the day that was going to be possible.

            He kept fucking coming and the closer he got, the more light headed Blaine felt. “Please, Blaine, don’t do this. I’ve been here every day, waiting for you to wake up, I just—“

            “Get out!” His voice cracked at the end. The closer Kurt came, the closer Blaine came to falling off the bed. There were so many tubes and he was fucking suffocating. Why wouldn’t the beeping stop? It just kept getting faster and he didn’t know what the hell it was even supposed to be anymore. He was drowning in the feeling that he was forgetting something and he couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was supposed to be.

            “Stop, stop!” Christian’s hands were suddenly on his, tearing them away from where he’d subconsciously almost tore out the I.V. “Stop it, you’ll hurt yourself!” And then Christian was so close. Their faces were so close and his roommate’s hands were solid and comforting against what was now his shoulders, pinning him to the thin mattress. His eyes were so blue, they were as close to home as he was ever going to get.

            “Make him go away, please,” Blaine whimpered, fingers clenching in the front of Christian’s shirt. There was so much rushing in his ears. The beeping spiked again and Christian’s mouth moved but nothing seemed to come out. Nothing was making sense and the harder he tried to focus, the less he was able to.

            But then Kurt was gone because Christian sunk back into his chair at Blaine’s side and clasped his hand tightly, thumb petting over his knuckles. “You’re okay. He’s gone. You’re okay.” And it was a breath of fresh air—literally. The beeping slowly but surely began to slow down and the furious pounding in his ears stopped. He was so fucking grateful for Christian.

            “Thank you. Oh God, thank you.”

 

O~o~O

 

            He’d gotten released a week later with specific instructions from the doctor about not stressing himself out and another set of instructions for Christian that Blaine apparently wasn’t allowed to know about.

            And so Blaine had gone home and suffered through another week of—well nothing. Christian had forced him to drop out of school at least for awhile and he’d taken a leave from work to watch him.

            And it was  _the most boring thing Blaine had ever experienced_. There was literally a depression in the couch cushion in the shape of his ass.

            “Can I go out now? Please?” Christian was humming in the kitchen, working around and playing with the stove.

            “No.”

            “Christian.”

            “Blaine.”

            “You’re being a bitch. Isn’t the point of watching me following where I go? Because I think I like that better than sitting around all day and watching you be a housewife.” Blaine crossed his arms, heaving a louder than necessary sigh and sinking somehow lower in the island stool.

            “It’s 6:30. Dinner is almost done.”

            “We could go  _out_  for dinner.”

            “We’re staying in. Maybe tomorrow.”

 

            It was the first time Blaine had woken up in the middle of the night. His fingernails were scratching almost of their own accord along his forearm to the inside of his elbow. He was in a pool of his own sweat, drenched curls stinging at his eyes. He  _ached_. His thighs and back felt as if they were on fire and every involuntary twitch sent a spark of pain through his nerves.

            Blaine knew what it was from. He knew what it was and he was so surprised it hadn’t happened sooner because he’d been in this position before. He rolled off his mattress, a loud groan grating through his throat as pain shot in every which way, and crawled his way towards the nightstand. The thought that he’d even have anything was a long shot in the first place, and it was set in stone when his fingers scraped the empty bottom of the drawer.

            He felt like screaming and crying and throwing a fit like a five year old just because he could. And he felt sick. Blaine  _crawled_  to the bathroom, managing to stumble all the while between muscle spasms and the writhing in his stomach that wouldn’t just fuck off.

 

            He didn’t know what time it was when Christian finally came into the bathroom. Blaine was shaking, curled up against the side of the toilet crying for everything he was worth. His eyes burned and his head throbbed and his insides felt like they were knotting themselves in a cruel game of twister. Christian’s hands were on his biceps, squeezing in a way that was probably supposed to be soothing but instead made the unbearable pain even worse. Christian was murmuring something quiet and Blaine couldn’t fucking hear him and he couldn’t open his eyes and he couldn’t even indicate what the fuck was wrong because he couldn’t breathe.

            His fingernails were still digging at his skin as he cried, rocking slightly until his head hit the side of the tub. Why wouldn’t it just stop?

            “Blaine! What’s wrong?” The stuffing that had clogged his ears seemed to clear because Christian’s frantic voice ran through his head like a knife. He opened his mouth, eyes squeezing closed even tighter as the light Christian had flicked on tried to seep through his eyelids.

            “Turn it off,” he croaked. Christian probably didn’t know what he was talking about. There was a rushing still in his ears and Blaine couldn’t tell if it was coming from in the room or in his head. The heat of his roommate’s hands disappeared and then the rushing stopped. But the light was still on.

            “Why did you even turn it on in the first place? Blaine, I need to know what’s wrong so I can help.”  _Help_. His least favourite word. He didn’t want help from anybody. Not Kurt, not Christian, not his  _father_.

            “Turn what on? Please, turn off the light.”

            “The tap.” Christian’s voice was so close again and he felt what must have been fingertips on his knees that were pulled up tight against his chest.

            “I don’t remember.” And he didn’t. Blaine didn’t remember doing anything once he’d gotten to the bathroom. He remembered the overpowering smell of bleach and promptly threw up in the toilet and that’s where his mind went empty. He never even turned on the light.

            “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

            “I need my stuff.” He sounded like absolute shit but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he could feel the rise and fall of his chest in the tips of his  _fingers_  and how every shuddering movement sent another ripple of pain through his whole body. He didn’t care that every little word dragged through his throat like glass and hurt just as much.

            “What stuff? The box?” Shit, the box. He hadn’t even thought about that.

            “My fucking heroin, Christian.” His forearms had, without a doubt, crescents carved into them from his fingernails. His nose was running and he was still crying and his mouth was so wet that if he opened it again he’d probably fucking drool all over himself. He could  _feel_  the beads of sweat tracking from his forehead and downward. Blaine had somehow managed to get out of his shirt and he couldn’t decide if it had been a good or bad idea. The sweat stung, the barely there droplets caused a friction he didn’t even think was possible and it  _burned_.

            “Blaine, I don’t know what to tell you.”

            “I need you to get me my fucking drugs before I die.” God, he felt like he was drowning. It was like that feeling when you’re swimming underwater and you need to take another breath but the surface is just so far away. His lungs burned, his eyes were stuck shut, his muscles were on fire and he was so damn close to breaking the water but he wasn’t close enough and he was  _drowning_.

            “I can’t.” And fuck did those words ever hurt. Blaine felt dizzy, despite not moving and having his eyes all but permanently clamped shut. He slid sideways and Christian caught him, slowly laying him out against the tile. He couldn’t tell whether the linoleum under his cheek was soothing because he couldn’t tell if he was cold or not. Blaine’s fingers twisted into what must have been his shirt and he let out another dry sob. He was suffocating.  


	13. Your Fingers And Your Lips Are Killing Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! So this chapter is another mouthful and I did have a good idea for an author’s note and then I promptly forgot it so this is my half-assed attempt at salvaging. Anyways, this chapter talks a lot about drugs and self-harm so there’s your warning. Be prepared. This song is Villian by Hedley.

_You think I never could have seen it all,_

_It seems you want me just to watch me fall._

_Your fingers and your lips are beautiful,_

**_Your fingers and your lips are killing me_ ** _._

            Blaine woke up in his bed, jolting upwards with a start and a gasp. He didn’t remember being moved. God, he didn’t even remember passing out. Blaine brought a hand to his head with a groan that sounded probably a lot more like a desperate whimper.  _Fuck_. His hair was still wet, though the shining layer of sweat that seemed to be coating every inch of his body would be the explanation for that. The sheets that were now twisted in a way he didn’t think possible around his ankles were also splotched with darkened patches.

            Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, twining fingers into his hair in an attempt to stop the room from spinning that way. Because maybe tearing out his hair would kill off his dizziness, of course. It seemed like such a regular morning, if his life could even be called that anymore, despite the curling in his gut and the throbbing of his head and the downright  _not regular_  feeling of literally everything.

            The grey light still filtered pitifully through his drawn blinds, no matter how many attempts he made to block out the sun, it always managed to seep its way in. His room still looked normal, from the brief glimpse he’d caught of it; door shut, closet opened, light off. But holy sweet hell, everything ached.

            Blaine rolled halfway off the bed, hands now reaching and grasping for his nightstand in a familiar douse of déjà vu. Something had happened last night and he couldn’t fucking remember anything besides curling up on the bathroom floor. He slowly opened his eyes, wincing against the dim light as he fought to open the drawer. And it was fucking empty.

 

 _“Why the fuck can’t you?” Blaine snarled, fingernails catching in the barely-there grooves in the tile. “I’m_ dying _.”_

_“Because I can’t. And you’re not dying, you’re in withdrawal.” Christian’s voice seemed so far away except Blaine knew he wasn’t. He knew that he was right there giving him that stupid condescending look that he donned almost twenty-four-seven._

_“Might as well be as good as dying.”_

_“You’ll be fine.”_

_“But what if I’m not? Christian, I_ need _it. I didn’t just start using for shits and giggles. I started because I needed it.” His stomach gave an unhappy roll and Blaine wrestled himself off the floor to bend over the porcelain toilet bowl once more as he heaved._

_“You’ll be fine.” God, why the fuck did he have to keep repeating that? What the hell did he know? Nothing. He knew nothing. He wasn’t some past junkie who knew what he was saying. He wasn’t a psychiatrist or a councillor; he was the manager of some shitty piano bar for Christ sake._

_“Fuck you,” Blaine spat, growling into the bowl and glaring up in the direction of his roommate’s silhouette. “Just fuck you.”_

_“Blaine—“_

_“Don’t. You don’t know what you’re saying. Who the hell do you even think you are? You can’t tell me what I will and won’t be. If I die because of this, that’s on_ your _hands you self-centered, pretentious, moronic, arduous, mundane asshole.” And shit, half of the words didn’t even make sense to his foggy haze of a mind but they were just words to spit out in the hope that Christian would take insult. The other man seemed to just silently observe his diatribe, as if it were directed instead at a third party. “What have you done? Have you ever done drugs? Have you ever felt good about yourself for one God damn minute because of something else other than yourself? It feels so inexplicably outstanding. So you cannot come in here and tell me that I’ll be fine without the one thing to make me happy.”_

_“You’re being overdramatic.”_

_“I said fuck you. You don’t know what it’s like.”_

            And there were all the memories that had, for some mysterious reason, ejected themselves from his mind until now. He’d probably knocked himself out and Christian had carried him to bed.

            “Christian,” he croaked, arms shaking where he fought to hold himself up, “help.” Asking for help made him sound like such a baby. He shouldn’t need help. Not from his roommate, not from anybody. He was supposed to be able to take care of himself, dammit. Except Christian didn’t come.

            Blaine couldn’t explain why he started crying. He couldn’t explain why he just slid off the edge of his mattress and curled up on the carpet and just cried for all he was worth, which was, in reality, quite little. His nose was running everywhere but he didn’t give a shit enough to do anything about it; the tears just seemed to mingle with the sweat and even though he was so fucking hot, he was so cold.

 

_“I need this. Please.” He was a wreck. It’d only been two or three days and he was standing in the middle of a classroom that wasn’t even his and staring pleadingly over Cameron’s desk. “Please. Fuck, I’m dying.”_

_“I gave you enough. What did you do with it all?” The older man quirked a grey brow, eyes narrowing slightly as he folded his hands over the surface of the wood._

_“I had a really bad day and ended up using most of it; a few bad days, actually. Please help me, Cam.” He was shaking, fingers clenching reflexively against the material of his flimsy sweater. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Did I over-use? Is this what overdose feels like?”_

_“Blaine, if you overdosed, you’d probably be dead. You’re in withdrawal. You said you haven’t used for three days?” Blaine nodded, which was in hindsight a bad idea because it just made his already sloppy brain just seem to turn even more into mush. “I can give you enough just to keep you floating and take off the edge of the worst symptoms, but I don’t have very much to begin with so you have to wait for more. Use wisely and don’t take it out on the drugs if you have a bad day. Act like a normal human being and go for a walk or something.”_

            It became the reason that Blaine didn’t need to use daily; sometimes even not weekly. He could almost go up to three weeks heroin free before he started to feel anything. He knew that after that first taste of a churning stomach and sweat-soaked bed sheets that he never wanted to go back and experience the more. He didn’t know what could be worse than what he was already dealing with at the time. Turns out it could get  _much_ worse.

            Blaine’s face was pressed against the grainy carpet and he was curled into a ball, fingers grasping— _clawing_  at his arms and undoubtedly leaving raised and red scratches. And he was still crying. He still couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t know if it was the withdrawal, or if it was because maybe his emotions were finally catching up with the rest of his life. How did he turn himself into this? He was  _Blaine Anderson_ , open and proudly gay boy who loved theatre and bowties and cardigans. Who knew all the words to every Disney song and who could watch musicals all day on the couch with just a tub of ice cream. He wasn’t supposed to be this broken shell of a person who couldn’t even get himself off the floor because he didn’t have the help of a needle to shove in his arm and make him feel human.

            He needed Kurt. He needed his beautiful eyes and loving fingers and gentle words. He needed to touch him and feel him and hold him and be _alive_.

 

            It was probably around noon that Christian finally showed up. Not that Blaine would know what time it was in the first place. He felt like he’d been on the floor forever. The idea of moving even an inch in any direction made him want to be sick.

            “Blaine?” And how dare he sound as if he were concerned, as if he actually cared. He didn’t care. If he cared than he would help.

            “’fuck do you want?” Blaine hissed, curling himself impossibly tighter and making a feeble attempt to shift away from his quickly approaching roommate.

            “Are you okay?” His voice was so fucking loud that Blaine wanted nothing more than to literally saw out his ears. A burning hot hand touched his bare shoulder and he yelped, causing it to disappear just as quickly. “Blaine, you’re freezing.”

            “No I’m not, I’m fine.”

            “Can you move?”

            “No.”

            “Then you’re not fine.”

            “Fuck off.” Blaine cracked open an eye, glaring up at Christian as best as he could from both the angle and elevation. He didn’t need him, he needed  _Kurt_. Not some dickhead who thought he could save the planet. Even though, come to think of it, that was kind of what Kurt was, too.

            “I came to talk to you, actually. I have a proposition but now, looking at the state you’re in, I doubt it’ll be possible.” Blaine stayed quiet, hoping that his silence would portray his pleading for Christian to just  _go_. “Rachel is having a Christmas party and she wants me to go. And considering I have to watch you, that means you kind of have to come, too.”

            “When is it?” Even entertaining the idea of getting off the floor at this point was sickening and made Blaine want to throw up.

            “The twenty-fourth. Do you think you’ll be functional in three days?”

            “If you give me marijuana and a bottle of vodka, maybe.” Even the idea of alcohol made him feel sick, which was surprising in itself.

            “You can’t just get off one drug and jump to another.”

            “You’re making me cut this like cold turkey, I can do whatever the fuck I want to.”

            “If I get you something to take off the edge, will you come? I want to see Rachel.” Even the idea of getting  _something_  into his system made everything feel just that much better. When Blaine opened an eye, Christian looked nervous. His fingers were twined together and he shifted slightly on his feet, gaze flitting briefly to Blaine and then away.

            “Yes, yes. God yes.”

 

            Blaine didn’t know where Christian got the drugs, and frankly he didn’t really care. He had been shaking so bad with need that his roommate had to give him the shot, which he obviously wasn’t pleased with doing. That just went to show how much he wanted to go to this stupid party.

            Blaine slumped onto the couch, curling his feet up next to him and eyeing the dark television. He felt better, that was for sure; but whether or not he felt good was hard to determine. The sandwich Christian made for him was promptly thrown back up and his forearms literally  _itched_  for another hit. Blaine stretched his arm out in front of him, laying his elbow against the armrest and letting his eyes slowly trace over the lines that marked up his once clean skin. He almost hated them. No, he did hate them. He hated that he went to such a stupid length just to make himself feel good when all he was doing was fucking things up even worse.

            He hated that he gave into such a horrible way of coping when he promised himself that he wouldn’t drop to that level because he was strong enough that he didn’t need to hurt himself. He was a complete and utter failure to every letter of the word.

            Blaine squeezed his eyes closed, drawing in a slow breath and running the tips of his fingers over the literal tally marks marking up the soft skin of his forearm. Most of them that floated just off the heel of his hand were faded out; but the higher he went, the more obviously severe they became.

 

_The first time he cut himself, it was a stupid accident. It was probably around six months since Kurt had left and Blaine was chopping carrots for stew. He turned to drop them in the pot with the wicked notion that he’d be able to hold the knife at the same time. Needless to say, he wasn’t able to do it. It was actually a rather small cut; maybe half an inch long on the outside of his wrist._

_He thought nothing of it, cursing and swearing and rushing to get the wash cloth before he dripped blood all over the rest of the food still on the counter. After he cleaned it up and actually looked at it, everything went downhill._

_Blaine found out that he liked the way it looked. He liked the imperfection, the flaw in the seamless skin. He liked the look of the bright scarlet against his olive complexion. And from there forward, he was fucked._

_The second time was actually the first time he did it with intent. His father was out on a business meeting but not before smashing the coffee pot against the counter and threatening Blaine with the shards. He knew something had to be stopped, that he really shouldn’t be living like this and maybe he should actually heed Kurt’s words._

_Except the idea of listening to the subject of his nightmares made his stomach twist. There was no way he would let him win, no way that Blaine would lose to Kurt. No way that he would tell the Police and they would take away his father and he’d have to admit that Kurt was right all along; that he’d lost him for nothing._

_Blaine went digging for the box that was buried in his closet behind shoeboxes. And after looking at the sparkling slivers of broken memories, he knew what he had to do._

            He wished he didn’t. He wished he’d never slipped while cooking because that just opened up a door of fuckery that he wished he never had to deal with in the first place.

            Blaine opened his eyes, looking almost sadly down at his still extended arm and the gradient of scars ranging from old and faded, to middle-aged and silver, and to new and pink. He should have been stronger.

 

            The next few days were a haze of occasional needles, feeling a little better, and the toilet bowl. Food was still a definite no. It didn’t matter what he tried to eat, it never wanted to stay down. Blaine’s bed sheets were also going through a serious affair with the washing machine as the sweat he produced left them soaked nightly. He still had a headache and if he moved too quickly, he’d lose balance and crash into the wall. Christian was around more often than not; tending to Blaine’s temperature, changing sheets, supplying Advil and glasses of water to keep him hydrated.

            A lot of the time Blaine just cried for no reason. He’d curl up on the bathroom floor, hugging his knees to his chest and just cry. Christian usually sat with him, offering boxes of Kleenex and a warm embrace if he needed it; which he usually did. Blaine really never gave Christian enough credit. While he was bitching and groaning about his friend being an asshole and calling him rude names, Christian never left his side. It was refreshing to know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

 

            “Blaine, can you please make yourself presentable? I don’t think a Christmas party is boxers attire.” Christian was in his bedroom, probably fixing his outfit for the three hundredth time in half an hour.

            “What the hell am I supposed to wear? I don’t have a suit. And even if I did, I definitely wouldn’t be wearing it.” Blaine spun slightly on the island stool, realizing afterwards what a bad idea it was when the room tilted dangerously.

            “Yes you do have a suit, I’ve seen it. And I wouldn’t let you wear it anyways; it’s far too nice for you to throw up on.”

            “Thank you for the moral support, dick weed.” Blaine slid off the seat, half-wobbling down the hallway and stopping in Christian’s doorway. “Stop fucking playing with the tie and come here.” Christian shot him a half-hearted glare before moving over to stand in front of Blaine.

            “You really don’t know how to tie a bowtie, do you?” He gave the open laptop on the bed a critical look, raising an eyebrow at the step-by-step guide.

            “And you can?” Christian scoffed, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling and putting his hands on his hips in a manner that was decidedly very not straight of him.

            “As a matter of fact, yes, I can.” He slid the strip of fabric out of Christian’s collar, wrapping it instead behind his own neck before setting to work with it. The look he was given was bordering on hilarious; the way his roommate’s eyes almost seemed to bug out of his head and his mouth literally popped open. “Tada.” Blaine gave a little pose, sweeping his hand in a presentable gesture over the perfect little bow.

            “How did—“

            “Years of practice, my friend.” He tugged it loose, slinging it through Christian’s collar once more and setting to work with tying it for him. “There you go. Now you’ll definitely be able to wiggle your way into Ms. Berry’s animal sweaters.” Blaine ran his palms over the lapels of his roommate’s vest before spinning and heading back out the door.

            “That was not my intention!”

            “Yes it was, don’t lie. You haven’t gotten laid for probably around a year. A man has needs, Christian.” Blaine shot a grin over his shoulder, taking in his friend’s pink face with relish.

 

            In the end, Blaine settled for something simple. Someone said something about Kurt being back in Ohio with his family. Hopefully things would stay that way, if it was true. He chose green skinny jeans that had been neglected for an immeasurable amount of time in the bottom of his dresser, a white button-up with a red cardigan and, just because he was surprisingly in the mood, the bowtie that Rachel had given him so many years ago at Christmas; the one with the little trees on it.

            He felt good for the first time in awhile. He actually entertained the idea of having a conversation with Rachel. Everything without the thought of Kurt in the mixture felt pretty damn awesome. As he left his room, shoes in hand, the look Christian gave him as he literally floated into the living room made him smile.

            “You were in there for maybe a quarter of the time that I was getting ready and you already look better,” he pouted, crossing his arms and shoving out his lower lip in an overdramatic action.

            “Oh please, you just look like a straight man. I,” Blaine gave a sweep of his arms, over-indicating the jeans hugging his legs, “obviously do not. Although my ass does look great.” He gave a wiggle of his eyebrows at Christian’s laugh.

 

            The idea of the subway was ultimately a bad one, so they fought to hail a taxi; Christian almost tripping several times over his own feet and nearly throwing the present he bought for Rachel into the slush.

            “How the fuck are you so uncoordinated?” Blaine snatched the bag from his friend before he did actually drop it, stepping back from the curb to let Christian get them a car instead.

            “Because we can’t all be graceful swans like you,” he growled, clearly refraining from shouting in success when a taxi pulled up.

 

            The building was intimidating, that was one thing. It was, well,  _huge_. Blaine didn’t like the idea of an elevator, but stairs weren’t appealing either.

            “How the fuck does she even live here? It’s so—“

            “Big?” Christian turned to look at him when they stopped outside the lift, quirking an eyebrow.

            “Yes,” Blaine mumbled, dropping his eyes to the steel doors as they parted and a group of people flooded off.

            “She’s a go big or go home kind of person. Shouldn’t you know that?”

            “Well, yeah. But I was hoping that maybe that attitude would ebb away with time.” Blaine followed Christian into the elevator, trying to not visibly wince when he pushed the button for the top floor.

            “If anything, she’s gotten even bigger.”

            “ _Joy to the world_ ,” he hissed, leaning back against the wall of the box.

 

            Everything was green and red and  _loud_. There were lights bouncing off the walls and a heavy bass that definitely should not ever be associated with Christmas. There were countless people mingling in the center of the room and, much to Blaine’s delight, no Kurt to be seen. Rachel appeared almost immediately, squealing in such a high register that it probably could have exploded some eardrums. She hugged them both; Christian first where it was accompanied with a kiss, and then Blaine, her face softening immediately as she wrapped him up in her arms and breathed a thank you against his neck. As much as he hated to admit it, it felt good.

            Blaine also didn’t see anybody that he knew, which was a relief all on its own. Although soon enough, the bar enticed him over. He leaned against the counter, swirling his drink in his hand and watching the ice tumble around the glass. Rachel always sucked in the alcohol department, but the scotch was surprisingly okay. The golden liquid was calming, little bubbles rising and breaking the perfect image in such a delicate way that Blaine couldn’t help but get lost in it.

            The lights, although fascinating in their play off the walls, seemed to be missing something. The room of people was so full except so definitely empty. There needed to be smoke. There needed to be something more. And as Blaine turned back towards the cabinets and away from the people hoarded around the place, he had the sudden urge to be the one to smoke it up. To get just a group of willing people and find someone with a bong and just sit in the corner of the room and just get so high that instead of just feeling the music in his chest, he’d be able to feel it everywhere.

            It was the one thing that enticed him into drugs in the first place; he definitely didn’t start with heroin.

 

_It was actually at a Warblers party that he was first introduced. Blaine was probably sixteen because it was definitely before he met Kurt. It was all fun and games; they ate pizza, played video games, and sang stupid karaoke songs that basically nobody knew the words to._

_It was his_ first _party with the Warblers, actually. Wes had pulled him aside and told him something along the lines of ‘what happens at the party, stays at the party’, and Blaine thought nothing of it, just that some of the guys might get drunk or something and kiss someone else. That was what normally happened at parties, wasn’t it?_

 _Except when Blaine showed up, there was no alcohol in sight, just stretching the confusion ever-further. Thad disappeared for a little while, and when he asked, David assured him that he’d be back soon. And when he did eventually return, it was with something that took Blaine by surprise. It was a bong, and as cliché as it was, it was in the shape of a bird; wings open but still curled around its body and head tilted upward with a beak that actually ended up being the neck of the device, curling open to reveal a perfectly smooth and delicately rounded tunnel. It was_ beautiful _._

_Everybody seemed to know what they were doing, gathering into a circle in the middle of the room, so Blaine followed along. Wes kept shooting him odd glances when he dropped down beside him, as if he was calculating how well he was doing with it all. And as it turned out, he did insanely well._

_He felt like maybe if he tried hard enough, he could fly. That he’d be able to jump and just take off. He felt, well,_ high _. The music was back up and people were moving again except now the room was filled with smoke that curled high through the air and seemed to twist around his_ brain _. He could feel the music everywhere; from his ears all the way to the very tips of his fingers. It was almost as if he could feel it. Feel the sound waves coursing through the air and twisting just like the smoke around his head. God, he felt alive._

            He wanted that feeling again. He wanted the feeling of being swept off his feet by something other than another person. He wanted that feeling of living and breathing and  _soaring_. Maybe if he believed it hard enough, he could feel it. He could already feel the tendrils of it licking at the edges of his mind and he felt so alive.

            Blaine set his drink on the counter, ready to go dance with some stranger and probably take him home without Rachel knowing. Except there was someone in his way, and it was Kurt.

            “Hi.”


	14. Flood Out This Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! Well, this chapter is a lot lighter than I’m sure people expected, but I kind of love it so I hope that you all do, as well! Lexi and I worked on this for around seven hours making sure that it was perfect, that’s how dedicated we are. Also, we both tweaked our summaries because of confusion reasons so hopefully things are more clear now. Anyways, this week’s song is Battlefield by Lea Michele. Warnings for self-harm but not explicitly the act of doing so, speak of suicide, and some sexual intent and mentions. If disgusting-drug-store-dirty-talk isn’t your thing than I apologize.

_We both know it’s coming,_

_Does illusion count for something we hide?_

_The surface tension’s gotta break,_

_One drop is all it takes to **flood out this lie**._

 

            “Hi.”

Blaine took a step back, ass colliding with the edge of the counter and that’s when he realized he was trapped. “What’re you doing here?”

            “Rachel…Rachel invited me. She’s kind of my best friend,” it was quiet, almost as if he was tired of fighting with Blaine. And in all honesty, who wouldn’t be? But he also seemed determined in a way that was just so  _Kurt_  that let Blaine know he wasn’t giving up that easily. Fuck him. “Can we—can we talk somewhere private? It’s loud in here.”

            Blaine shot a look over Kurt's shoulder to Christian who seemed to be watching—and didn't do a fucking thing about it. Some friend. He was there when Kurt was trying to get at him in the hospital so why wasn’t he there now, when Blaine obviously needed a barrier? When did they suddenly make up and become buddies? "Why? I thought you were in Ohio, that's the only reason I came here."

            “I...I’m going after New Year’s.”And fuck him for not paying attention. Fuck him for only picking out the words that he wanted to hear. He heard something about Kurt being in Ohio and didn’t even question the timeframe. Didn’t even assume that he wouldn’t be gone already. “Please can we just go to my apartment? It’s right next door. I need to talk to you.”

            Blaine eyed him carefully, taking in his obviously anxious demeanor critically. It couldn’t hurt, could it? Couldn’t hurt any more than it already had. Blaine’s fingers clenched where his hands hung at his sides. “Fine.”

            And Kurt was gone so quickly that Blaine nearly had to run after him. There were so many more people than he remembered. It might have been because when he came in he didn’t really pay attention to anything other than the lights and the shitty alcohol. Kurt was fumbling with his key before –rather ungracefully- holding open the door for him. Blaine slipped under his arm, making a desperate attempt to not brush against the other man and failing quite tragically.

            The apartment was exactly what Blaine assumed Kurt would live in. Playbills lined the walls; and really it was almost scary looking at how many there were. How did he come up with the money to attend them all? The maroon couch looked beaten up, but almost lovingly so; Kurt always had a thing for second-hand furniture and it was something Blaine would never understand. And there were pictures. Pictures that made him want to gag himself because they were all Kurt with some other guy that Blaine didn’t even have the heart to remember the name of. “Talk. What do you have to say? Before I change my mind.”

            Kurt waved at the worn couch. “Sit. Um, please.” Blaine dropped down on one of the cushions, making an obvious scene of pushing himself as far from Kurt as possible. The other man cleared his throat. “So how are you? It’s been…a while since we’ve seen each other.”

            Blaine clasped his hands in his lap, flicking his eyes from the walls to land on the man before him. “I’m  _fine_. Get to the point, Kurt. You said this would be quick.” And honestly, he really didn’t want to stay in this stupid room longer than he had to. Didn’t want to be forced to look at Kurt’s calm face before him and the disgustingly happy ones scattered across the walls.

            Kurt sunk down beside him, much closer than Blaine would have liked. Blue eyes met his and he wanted to drown himself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done over the past couple weeks—for everything I’ve ever done—and I wish more than anything that I could take it all back.” Kurt paused, taking in a breath and watching Blaine like he expected him to say something. Did he? “I want us to be friends. I want to be here for you in a different way than I was before.”

            And God, that’s where something snapped. “We tried being ‘friends’ and you went and fucked me up. You ruined  _everything_.” Blaine got up off the couch, eyes moving around the room and trying to look at anything besides the man before him. His gaze fell on the kitchen counter and there, underneath a stack of envelopes in the far corner, was his box. He made a dash for the kitchenette, diving for the box and scattering papers in his wake. Kurt’s hand reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” He struggled backwards, stumbling into the island and clutching his belongings to his stomach, but Kurt wouldn’t let up. “ _You_  did this. And you had no right to take this! It’s  _mine_ , not yours. You don’t get to dictate what I can and cannot own, Kurt!” Everything seemed to blur over; his vision clouded and there was a distinctive ringing in his ears and he just wanted to run for his life. Everything flooded back and it all burned so much worse. Having to watch Kurt sneak away with his release, with his fallback. Sitting in the bathroom and literally carving the life out of his wrists. It all somehow managed to hurt even more now than when he was experiencing it. Memories were a cruel, twisted thing.

            “No. No, no, no,” Kurt repeated it like a mantra, head shaking as he maintained his grip on Blaine’s arm. “You don’t understand, Blaine, I was trying to  _help_  you. You were  _hurting_  yourself, what was I supposed to do? Stand by and watch it happen? Because I already tried that and now everything’s fucked up.”

            “Everything’s fucked up because  _you_  fucked it up! I understand perfectly fine, you  _stole_  from me. You stole my property! Who gives a damn what I was doing to myself? I certainly don’t, and you shouldn’t either. You left that behind when you left  _me_  behind!” Kurt shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter what Blaine was doing to himself because  _he_  shouldn’t matter. Blaine took a step back, carefully easing his way around the man before him and heading for the door.

            Kurt was right on him, grabbing at Blaine’s forearms and wrenching him back. “Listen to me! You don’t think I fucking know that? I’ve beaten myself up, endured dozens of sleepless nights trying to figure out how to fix this, but you won’t even give me the fucking chance. How are you supposed to get better if you won’t let someone in? It  _kills_  me to see you like this, Blaine. I was in love with you. There’s not a single bone in my body that doesn’t ache to help you. Maybe everything I’ve tried has turned to shit so far but…I can’t lose you and I won’t stop trying until that fear is gone.”

            “You’re the one who doesn’t understand! I haven’t slept properly since you walked away from me. I haven’t been able to breathe and be happy since that stupid fucking day in the parking lot where  _you_  told me I wasn’t strong enough!” his voice cracked at the end, snapping up several octaves. Tears blurred his vision and he felt so  _weak_. “I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t good enough for you and it fucking killed me.”

The box slid out of Blaine’s fingers as he squeezed his eyes shut and it clattered to the tile. The glass shards skittered across the floor and he knew that when he looked down, he would be met with those stupid pictures of them. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Kurt. You  _loved_  me. I still  _love_  you and it fucking sucks.” Blaine looked up at Kurt, taking in a shuddering breath as the tears rolled off his lashes before dropping his gaze to the pictures of them grinning and holding each other and laughing and in  _love_.  

And then Kurt was on the ground, kneeling amongst the broken glass and carefully picking up the strip of pictures. He had a hand over his mouth as if trying to force back the gut-wrenching sob that forced its way out between his fingers. Kurt looked back up at Blaine and smiled a sort of broken kind of smile. “Don’t you see, you fucking idiot? I still love you, too.”

Blaine let out a choked off noise as he fell to his knees in front of Kurt, not caring about the glass seemingly pooled around them. Kurt’s arms circled his shoulders at the same time Blaine’s wound around Kurt’s waist. They fit together perfectly, the same way they had four years ago. All he could do was cry into the taller man’s shoulder; the shoulder of the man he loved, the shoulder of the man who loved him back.

“We’re going to get through this,” he murmured sweetly against Blaine’s temple, lips pressing into his hair. “Just like we’ve gotten through everything else—together.” There was a beat of silence, a beat of Kurt’s heart against his ear and he felt like he was home. “Do you remember the Hello Kitty band-aid?” Blaine chuckled wetly against Kurt’s throat, giving a little hiccup while the tears didn’t seem to want to stop.

“How could I forget? I left that stupid thing on the rest of the week because it made me feel like I mattered. Until I tore out resurfacing chest hairs taking it off, then it didn’t feel so nice.” They laughed together; it was light and open and  _free_. They were free. “Remember the crummy corner store?”

“Oh, my God. I think I remember it  _too_  well.”

“You can never remember sexy, gross department store dirty talk too well.” He tightened his grip on Kurt’s waist, clutching handfuls of the shirt he wore.

 

 _It was so much more awkward than it should have been. They were standing in the middle of the aisle –literally smack dab in the centre- of that ridiculously shabby looking drug store downtown. They were only there because the amount of familiar faces to be seen were more than likely in the negatives. The only person they_ might _have encountered was Puck, but considering he practically swore himself off condoms right in the middle of the choir room, even that chance was slim._

_“What kind should we get?” Blaine was whispering –why the fuck was he whispering?- fingers tentatively touching Kurt’s bicep._

_“This is so embarrassing.” The taller boy’s face was as scarlet as Blaine had ever seen it, which was really saying something. He was red up to the tips of his ears and down his throat, even into the collar of his shirt and more than likely across his chest. It would have been amusing if they weren’t in such an awkward situation._

_“Hurry up and pick something so that we can get out of here, then.”_

_“Why do I have to pick? You’re the one who—wait. We haven’t even talked about who’s—“ Kurt paused, clearing his throat and ducking his head slightly, “bottoming.” It was so silent that Blaine had to strain to hear the word._

_“I will. I mean, I’d like to, if that’s okay. I know that you’re still self-conscious no matter what I tell you and I’ve been thinking about—“ Blaine broke off with an audible and rather embarrassing squeak, slapping a hand over his mouth and looking up at his boyfriend with wide eyes._ Shit _._

_And of course it didn’t slip by Kurt because he was a fucking hawk when it came to the things Blaine hoped would go unnoticed. “You’ve been thinking about?” When did Kurt get so close? When did his nose end up barely inches from Blaine’s own?_

_“Can we talk about this later?” he whispered, slowly moving his hand to the side._

_“I’d really like to hear now, though.” And how Kurt could go from blushing virgin to coy and sexy in half a second was literally mindboggling._

_“I’d really rather do this when we aren’t standing in some scummy corner store.” It was Blaine’s turn to flush to the tips of his ears._

_“Blaine,” Kurt’s fingertips hooked in the side of Blaine’s jeans where they were pulled up over his tucked-in shirt and dragged him closer, “please tell me.”_

_Kurt’s breath was hot in his ear and the fingers seemed to burn a hole through the material of Blaine’s shirt. Everything got so hot so fast, and they were still in the store for Christ sake. “I think about your dick when I finger myself.”It all poured out in a rush, tumbling off his lips as if the words couldn’t wait to escape and he almost wished he could wrangle them back in._ Almost _._

 _Kurt literally_ purred _against Blaine’s ear, the fingers hooked in the waistband of his jeans retracting so that he could stuff the hand in Blaine’s back pocket. “Good boy.”_

_Blaine almost passed out._

Their laughter echoed throughout the apartment. “I miss this. I miss us. I miss you. Even if you did crack an egg on my head back during senior year,” Kurt smiled into Blaine’s hair. 

            “I never ended up getting that flour out of my polo, if that makes you happy.”

“My dad still resents you for getting hot pink icing on his favorite plaid button-up.”

“He had like, three of the same kind. How did he know  _that_  one was his favourite? He could have mistaken it. And besides, I did renew his beers.” Blaine couldn’t feel his left foot and his admittedly favourite jeans were probably ruined but he didn’t have it in him to care. "Remember the paper airplanes at Dalton?"

 

             _They were studying and for some God-awful reason, they settled on the Library of all places; the one room where he was strictly forbidden to do something loud or obnoxious. Maybe that was why Kurt chose it, because he knew the temptation would be too great._

 _Blaine stared down at his blank paper with a sigh, pencil tapping against the margin and leaving behind broken little chips of graphite. Kurt also decided it was a spectacular idea to sit_ across the room _from him, so that they wouldn’t be distracted. Sunday afternoons were supposed to be_ their _afternoons and Kurt was ruining it with his stupid straight-A-student obligations. Blaine knew Kurt had to work a little bit harder because he wasn’t used to Dalton’s work load, but because of the fact he himself was already used to it, made his boyfriend’s (_ boyfriend’s _) studying habits tiresome._

_Blaine tore out the sheet of lined paper, folding it into a paper airplane. He ripped out another, tearing it into smaller pieces and writing on one of them before tucking it inside the plane. Blaine glanced up, eyeing the distance between his table and Kurt’s and casting a quick glance around for the bitchy librarian before sending the paper on its way. And to his delight, it made touchdown gracefully on Kurt’s textbook, the nose bouncing off the forearm laid out beside it._

_Kurt looked over at him, cocking an eyebrow before slowly taking the note from inside the folds. The harsh glare that was sent Blaine’s way nearly made him choke on the sip of water he was taking. The fact that the two silly little words got such a huge reaction was laughable. Blaine knew the ‘_ You suck _’ was probably the farthest thing from mature, but that didn’t matter._

 _Minutes passed and Kurt didn’t look like he planned on sending the plane back. So Blaine made another. ‘_ You’re boring _’ Kurt looked like he was going to burn Blaine with his eyes._

_“Fuck you,” Kurt mouthed at him and Blaine clutched a hand to his chest in mock hurt, scrunching his eyebrows and pushing out his lower lip. The older boy just rolled his eyes, going back to the textbook on the table in front of him and ignoring Blaine._

_So, it was of course, Blaine’s job to make everything just that much harder for his boyfriend. He spent the next ten minutes creating a series of different paper planes, pointedly ignoring the sharpened looks Kurt sent across the field of carpet between them. The planes were scattered around Blaine’s table, arranged in order from largest to smallest. Each of them had a little note tucked somewhere in their flaps._

_He flew them all in turn, carefully watching Kurt’s face as he unfolded them with purpose, all the while glaring at Blaine and setting aside the notes to read._

_When the last plane touched the table, Blaine sat back in his seat and gave a glaring Kurt a triumphant grin._

_‘_ You look cute today _’_

 _‘_ Your ass looks nice in those pants _’_

 _‘_ Get it? Because you always have to wear the same pants because they’re uniform. That means your ass can look good in anything _’_

 _‘_ Because trust me, it looks even awesomer in skinny jeans _’_

 _‘_ Yes “awesomer” was on purpose, you grammar nazi _’_

 _‘_ Next time don’t forget your jacket, new kid _’ Kurt smiled at that one, casting a look across the room filled with adoration._

 _‘_ I think I’m gay for you _’ Kurt giggled, pressing his fingers to his lips. And then he started to write his own._

_‘_ **I think I’m gay for you, too, you loser.** _’_

“You were so cheesy, you always were. But it was the cheesy things that made up for all the pain.” Blaine hummed and smiled against Kurt’s throat. He supposed it was true, in a twisted sort of way.  Kurt chuckled, shifting on the tile and causing the broken glass to crunch unhappily.

 “Oh, fuck,” Kurt groaned, heaving himself off the floor and out of Blaine’s embrace. “It’s Christmas.”

Blaine followed him up, pulling a face and leaning up on his toes to instead wind his arms around Kurt’s neck, sure to keep him prisoner. “Merry Christmas, Kurt.”

“Merry Christmas, Blaine.” His eyes flicked to the taller man’s lips. He was fucking psychotic. He was stupid and psychotic and he was an idiot. Barely hours ago they’d been at each other’s throats and now here Blaine was about to make a valiant attempt to kiss his past and hopefully future lover. He leaned in slowly, giving Kurt enough time to pull away if he wanted to. Blaine could literally  _taste_  the other man’s breath on his lips and  _fuck_  had he missed it.

And then the door banged open, causing Blaine to start with a yelp, slipping on the glass and nearly tumbling to the floor once again.

“Kurt?” And boy was that ever an unfamiliar voice.

“Aaron?”  _Shit_. 


	15. I'd Make You Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Comments are always ALWAYS appreciated. We're always trying to figure out ways to make this as best as we can. If you have any suggestions feel free to throw it out there. Or if you just have something you'd like to see! Make sure to read my super-awesome co-author's part Blades of Temptation, also posted on my account! This song is Come On, Get Higher by Matt Nathanson.

 

_I miss the sound of your voice,_

_And I miss the rush of your skin._

_And I miss the still of the silence,_

_As you breathe out and I breathe in._

_If I could tell you what’s next,_

**_I’d make you believe_ ** _._

            “I’ll leave you two alone.” It was almost a whisper as Blaine pulled away, arms slipping off Kurt’s shoulders. Blaine gave him a shy little half-smile, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he turned and made his way out of the apartment, hardly even giving Aaron a second look.

            Blaine didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. On one hand, the little heart-to-heart with Kurt had opened something he thought was welded shut ages ago. He felt like he could really and truly breathe for the first time in forever and it was exhilarating. But on the other, he was being naïve. It was childish to think that one little sit-down would solve all his problems. That one near-kiss would kill his demons. It was stupid that he believed so hard.

            Blaine paused outside Rachel’s door, fingers resting on the handle and debating whether or not it was really worth returning. Christian was more than likely dancing onto the not-so-sober side of the line, Rachel was probably fighting tooth and nail for karaoke, and Blaine wasn’t sure he wanted to be looped into  _that_.

            He could walk home, or take a cab if he was feeling lazy; it wasn’t like they brought the car in the first place, anyways. Blaine slid inside the door, closing it immediately behind himself in an attempt to draw the least amount of attention. Which inevitably backfired when Christian spotted him and stumbled his way through the crowd.

            “Blainey! Where did you go? I missed you.” Wonderful, Christian was one of  _those_  kinds of drunks. He swung his arm around Blaine’s shoulders, crushing the shorter man into his side in a sweaty, smelly, suffocating mess.

            “I was talking to someone. I’m not staying; I’m just getting my coat and going.” Blaine fought to wiggle himself away from the older man, pressing a gentle but insistent hand against Christian’s side in an attempt to escape.

            “But you can’t leave,” he pouted, shoving out his lower lip in such an overdramatic act that Blaine nearly started laughing. “Rachel is just setting up karaoke.”

            “All the more reason for me to bolt while I can. Have fun with kitten-sweaters; I doubt you’ll be home tonight given the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed.” Blaine gave him a pat on the shoulder and a grin before slipping off in the direction of the closet. Christian was never good at drinking; he was a serious light-weight that could barely handle more than two wine coolers, and given the state he was in now, he’d definitely had more than that and would probably be suffering a not-so-pleasant hangover come morning. Rachel was the one who wanted to date him, so it was only fair to leave him at her house so that she knew what exactly she was signing up for. Blaine grabbed his coat before heading back to the door, mind set on walking home rather than taking a taxi.

            The late night air was like a slap in the face, although a well deserved one at that. It was crisp and cold, whipping at the curls that had broken out of their hardly-gelled hold. The snow stuck to his loafers, seeming to worm its way over the edges and freezing his sockless feet in a matter of seconds.

 

             _“That’s disturbing.” Kurt had his arms crossed, brow creased with a glare as he stared down at –Blaine’s ankles?_

_“Am I showing too much skin?” Blaine quirked an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth._

_“You’re not wearing socks, Blaine. That’s outrageous.” And the sad part was that Kurt actually looked mortified._

_“They’re just socks.”_

_“They’re not just socks! How do your shoes not smell horrible? How do you not have blisters? That’s so unhealthy.” And if Blaine didn’t know Kurt, he wouldn’t believe he was actually serious._

_“I guess I just have majestic feet.”_

_“Yes well keep your majestic feet away from me.”_

 

            There were some days that Blaine thought about what his life would have been like if he didn't move to the city. If he'd have moved out west with Cooper instead. Would he still have missed Kurt as much? Maybe not. Maybe the city was just a set up for himself; he got out of his father's torture and dunked himself in a whole new realm of his own. Because maybe subconsciously he knew that being around all the life that teemed within New York would remind him of what he'd lost with Kurt.  

            For awhile he’d been fine. He’d been able to cope with it all with the help of Christian. But now, looking back on the past few years of his life, he realized how shitty things had actually been, no matter what he tried to tell himself; he hadn’t ever been truly happy here.

            Blaine glanced up at the sky. The daintily falling snowflakes danced around each other in the air, twisting and swirling around on the breeze. Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t go out more often, why he didn’t enjoy the world for what it was worth. He lived in one of the most gorgeous cities on the planet and he didn’t even get out and really  _live_  in it.

            People still shuffled by on the sidewalk despite the early hour. That was one thing that Blaine loved about New York; everybody was so alive. They all had places to be, no matter what the time. And really, it was refreshing. Because on a bad day, Blaine knew that he wasn’t alone. He could look out the window and watch the throngs of people struggling by on the sidewalk and  _know_  that just because he had problems didn’t mean the world stopped turning. It was a wakeup call, and a relieving one at that. It was one he hadn’t even realized until now.

 

            Blaine was still trying to decide if walking home was a good idea. He had time to think; he could take his time and just breathe in the fresh air. Except now he couldn’t feel his feet.

            It was leaning closer to one in the morning when he finally stepped into the apartment, locking the door behind him and shucking off his coat to hang on the rack. The house was completely silent, a rare thing as of recent because they both seemed to be home all the time. It was dark save for the little light above the stove that Christian was always so inexplicably adamant about leaving on.

            Blaine toed off his shoes gingerly, hissing at the friction against his frozen feet before padding down the hallway toward the bathroom. Maybe he’d take a bath.

 

            As it turned out, a bath was a wonderful idea. Blaine slumped back in the tub, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall; he felt like he was really waking up. The heat eventually thawed out his toes, leaving them tingling in the hot water. Steam curled lazily off the surface and he just felt so  _peaceful_. It was then he realized something was wrong. Not really wrong, per say, but a lot different than before and he hadn’t even noticed it.

            His withdrawal symptoms were gone. The itch in his arms had faded, his throbbing headache evaporated just like the steam from his bath. He didn’t know what caused it, but he didn’t feel like he  _needed_  the drug anymore. Or maybe he did know. Maybe getting back in touch with Kurt had been all he needed. Maybe  _Kurt_  was the only drug he needed. Fuck, if he’d have known that, he probably would have given the man a chance a long time ago.

            Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Blaine was stubborn, and he knew that; openly admitted to it even. He would have plowed on the same way, ignored Kurt’s feeble attempts to get them to talk, and ended up just the same. Although the idea that he might have been able to make it better even the slightest bit for himself was just another slap in the face.

 

            If he was being completely honest, which at this point he definitely was, he missed Kurt. He honestly and truly missed the other man. He’d dipped into the feeling before but now, waking up alone in his bedroom on  _Christmas_  with an empty apartment, made him wish even more for Kurt’s strong arms around him.

            They had gotten so close the night before. The fact that Blaine actually remembered it was a miracle in itself considering he was decidedly not completely sober. But he remembered, and for once the memories didn’t hurt.

            He remembered the sharp smell of Kurt’s cologne when he buried his face in the side of his neck. He remembered the firm, grounding embrace of Kurt’s arms and the gentle lips against his temple. He remembered how they had gotten so close to kissing;  _so close_. He could _taste_  the spice of Kurt’s mint gum, feel the tip of his nose brushing over Blaine’s cheek and  _fuck,_  why hadn’t he moved faster and just crushed that little bit of space into nothing? The smell of coconut and mango had been so overwhelming Blaine could have drowned in it, and happily so.

            He rolled over, watching the ceiling in the same way that seemed to start out every morning of his life. Except this time he felt different. He felt just a little bit lighter, and if he tried to convince himself that he didn’t know why, he knew he’d be lying.

Even though it was Christmas and Blaine was all by himself, he didn’t think he’d ever been happier. Christian had never returned home, and Blaine promised himself to congratulate his roommate on the breaking of his sexless streak.  

            And then Blaine’s phone buzzed on the nightstand where he’d left it before attending the party. Picking it up, there were several missed calls from an unknown number and a plethora of what he guessed were supposed to be legible texts from a very drunk Cooper. The most recent one had been his brother yet again, apologizing for the mishmash of what he sent the night before and wishing Blaine a Merry Christmas and telling him to check his mailbox soon accompanied by a stupid little winky-face that made him laugh out loud into the silence of his room.

 

            He wondered if things would just get better from here. If one little run in with Kurt made him feel this good already, Blaine couldn’t imagine the euphoria he was going to be exposed to in what he hoped was soon. He danced around the living room on his toes, singing quietly under his breath. He turned on the television, flicking the channel to the Yule log as per tradition. If Cooper were there, he would have been proud; his brother would protect the stupid flaming log until the day he died.

            Blaine took his phone out of his sweats pocket, pulling up Kurt’s name without thinking about it and quickly sending off a text.

             ** _Merry Christmas again, I know we already said it last night but I feel like saying it the day of makes it seem more official. Does that make sense? I don’t know, ignore me. Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day and I hope that Aaron guy didn’t fuck you up too bad. No pun intended. Sorry, this is a really long message. I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you._**

            He paused, fingers hovering over the keys of the touch screen once more. Was it worth it? Would he even care? Blaine stared the little blinking cursor, eyebrows scrunching together. Who was Aaron, anyways? Wasn’t Kurt supposed to be engaged? Shit, that was probably his fiancé. Although, come to think of it, Blaine didn’t remember seeing the ring on Kurt’s finger.

             ** _I miss you already, is that creepy? It probably is. Sorry, have a nice Christmas, Kurt._**

            Maybe they broke up. Blaine grinned, spinning a little on the tips of his toes before wiggling into the kitchen and singing a whole new tune.

            “ _Oh baby, it’s cold outside_.”


	16. Searching For the Pieces after the Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are 2,882 words in this chapter, 27 of which are the word 'fuck' or variations of such. Take from that what you will and enjoy the read! This week's song is Empty Handed by Lea Michele. Feeback is always so SO welcome!

_If I came to you empty handed,_

_A barren ocean with nothing at all._

_And if I came to you empty hearted,_

**_Searching for the pieces after the fall_ ** _._

            It was around 1 when Kurt finally texted him back. His stomach twisted, voice squeaking with the startled noise he made at the vibration, and his heart was just  _pounding_. Would he ever admit any of those things? Of course not.

             **Merry Christmas again to you, too. Are you up for getting coffee? Counter Culture at 2p.m.**  It was such an innocent sentence; there was no reason for Blaine’s nerves to go through the roof. But even despite that, they still did. He couldn’t help the little jolt his heart gave when he realized that Kurt never even addressed his other smaller message. Maybe Kurt just wanted to talk about it at the coffee shop, it wasn’t really something to discuss over text. Blaine stared at his phone probably a lot longer than was really necessary before finally summoning up the courage (hah, funny that he was the one needing to be courageous now) to answer.

             ** _I’d love to. I’ll see you at 2._**  And then it was gone and  _fuck_ , now he had to go. Blaine cast a look at his half-dressed torso, emitting another high noise he would deny to anybody that called him out on it. What was he even going to wear? Was this a date? Was he supposed to dress for a date? Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _fuck_. And what if Blaine didn’t want it to be a date? Just because they did whatever they did last night didn’t mean that he was just going to throw himself right back into Kurt’s arms. And yet here he was, seeming to do just that.  _Fuck_.

            Blaine threw his phone onto the couch before bolting (literally) down the hallway, bare feet slipping on the hardwood outside his door and nearly sending him crashing into the wall at the far end of the hallway. Why the hell was he given such short notice? How long had Kurt been planning this? There was no way that he would be able to be completely ready in an hour, especially if this was, in fact, a date. But who’s to say it was? Kurt was so meticulous that he spent an hour  _at least_  planning an outfit for just the next day.

            People change. Blaine sucked in a slow breath, bracing his arm against the wall beside his closet.  _Get it together, Anderson_. Kurt didn’t say it was a date. So it wasn’t. He’d tell him if it was, right? Right?  _Fuck_.

 

            In the end, he settled on something simple. Well, relatively simple. The mustard yellow jeans that Kurt always said he was iffy about but in the end admitted to loving them, and a black polo accompanied with the little bowtie Kurt gave him for their one month anniversary. The bowtie was an afterthought and somehow still seemed to work with the rest of the outfit. It was yellow  _and_  black; Kurt had giggled as he opened the gift, snickering about Blaine being his little bee.

            He looked in the mirror for what felt like the three hundredth time, eyeing his hair sceptically and wondering if it was worth gelling. The last few times Kurt had seen him, he’d been product free. But what if it was a date? Fuckity fuck.

            Needless to say, the gel-helmet was back in style.

 

            It was 1:53p.m and Blaine was fucking cold. The subway heating must have went out or they must have turned it off or done  _some bullshit_ with it because he froze the whole way to the little café. There was way too much snow for it to be normal. The snow in New York hardly ever even _touched the ground_  due to buildings keeping the heat in or some whacky science-y thing (Blaine didn’t know, he didn’t really make a show of paying attention) but here it was being an asshole and freezing his feet  _once again_. Maybe eventually he’d learn that loafers weren’t for the winter time, but today would not be that day.

            Blaine paused outside the little shop, sucking in a deep breath with his hand on the pull bar. And then he saw him. Kurt was sitting against one of the farther windows, one leg crossed over the other with coffee cup already in hand that would no doubt be only the first of several he’d consume over the course of the day. With a cup across from him.

            And Blaine was frozen. He wanted to just go in and sit down across from that  _beautiful_  man and laugh and smile and live and he  _couldn’t_. His fingers felt like they were locked around the pole, feet stitched right into the pavement, and he was stuck.  _Fuck_.

             _Just fucking go. He invited you here. He wants you here. Just_ goin _, you fucking pussy_. Blaine wrenched his hand away from the door, taking off down the sidewalk. He couldn’t  _breathe_. The entire world seemed to tilt off its axis, making a valiant attempt to throw him down against the concrete and make him feel it. Force little stones into the palms of his hands, tear up the knees of his jeans; rip up the outside as much as the inside was already torn.

            Blaine knew that running away wasn’t going to solve anything but he just didn’t  _care_. Because maybe if he ran far enough, it would at least give him a hint to the solution. The people swarmed over the sidewalk all gave him scathing looks as he pushed past them, fighting to get into an open space where he could breathe because there was too much and he was  _drowning_  in it.

            Blaine broke through the throng of people, tripping off the edge of the curb and careening into the side of a taxi. His hands smacked against the door, causing a shout from both the driver  _and_  the passenger, the car jolting forward half a foot. Today was decidedly not his day. First running from a date (was it a date? Did he just stand Kurt up?  _Fucking fuck_.) and now he was nearly causing car accidents.  _Splendid_.

            He pushed off the vehicle, slipping behind it and running for the park. Once he got there he knew he’d be able to breathe. There was so much more room, even on a crowded day. He wouldn’t feel like he was choking on the air around him.

            And almost as soon as his toes touched the sidewalk, the oxygen wasn’t clogging anymore. It didn’t feel heavy with something that wasn’t there, with something he couldn’t explain. Maybe it was regret, or guilt, or longing. Whatever it was, it was gone. Blaine was safe.

            He fell into a slow jog, finally tapering into a steady walk the further away he got. And then he started to cry. Blaine slid onto the bench at the side of the path, snow-free from what had to have been more than one person using it for one reason or another. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, leaning his elbows on his knees. He couldn’t explain himself if he tried.

            He couldn’t decide if what he was doing was a good thing or if it just made him even more of a horrible person than he already was.  _Fuck_.

 

             _“Blaine, where the hell have you been?” Kurt’s voice was frantic from where he was seated at the table, fingernails digging into his thighs and looking like he was ready to bolt at any second._

_“I’m sorry, I got held up by something.” Blaine sunk down across from his boyfriend, quickly picking up the coffee cup on his side of the table and downing half of the nearly-cold drink in one go. “Sorry.”_

_“You couldn’t have texted me or anything? You couldn’t have let me know? I was worried sick. You could have been in a car accident or taken hostage or—“_

_“Taken hostage?” Blaine quirked an eyebrow, fighting to keep the smile off his face._

_“It’s you. Anything could happen.” Kurt slid deeper in his chair, relaxing visibly (although barely)._

_“I’ll give you that much.” Blaine swirled the remains of his coffee around the bottom of the cup, eyes following the lazy liquid carefully. “I am sorry, though. Something got in the way and I had to take care of it first.” He finally brought his eyes up to land on Kurt and the knife in his heart twisted. He had this beautiful, fantastic man that loved him and he couldn’t even call ahead to tell him that he would be late. What kind of boyfriend did that make Blaine? A shitty one._

_“Did you want to talk about it?” Kurt’s voice was_ so _soft he could have imagined it. But he didn’t._

_“No, no. It’s nothing important. Would you believe me if I said traffic?” Blaine gave him a little hopeful smile, fluttering his eyelashes innocently._

_“In this town? Not at all,” Kurt snorted. And then he got serious again. “You don’t have to tell me now, but I’d really appreciate it if you did one day. To ease my conscience at least.”_

_The corner of Blaine’s mouth twitched. “One day.”_

 

            He lost track of how long he sat on the bench. Lost track of the amount of people walking by. Lost track of how many seconds his ass had officially been frozen to the metal. Blaine finally sat up, almost absolutely positive that there were hand shaped depressions in his face, and reached for his phone in his pocket. He’d been sitting there for an hour.

            His phone vibrated in his hand, lighting up with a text from Kurt.  **Is everything alright? I’m at CC.**  No. Everything was definitely not alright. Why else would Blaine be sitting in Central Park crying himself into a headache, with an ass  _literally_  stuck to the bench? His fingers hovered over the keys before he stuffed the device away again and slowly peeled himself out of his seat. His legs ached from the cold and he felt like taking a step forward would send him into the sidewalk.

            Blaine was such a  _failure_. He was such a  _fucking fuck up_. God, he stood Kurt up. He ran like the little bitch he was and left Kurt in the dark. He could always show up now. An hour later. Blaine drew in a shaky breath as he began his way back toward the road, tucking his frozen fingers into his pockets. He told himself that he would get it together for  _Kurt_. That he would pick himself up off the floor and sort his shit out because Kurt fucking wanted him and he  _failed_.

            Blaine pulled up the hood on his coat before returning his hands to his pockets. If he had to walk past the shop again, Kurt would definitely be looking for him now. The fact he even waited an hour was what Blaine wished he could call surprising. But it wasn’t, it was exactly something that Kurt would do.

            When Blaine passed the coffee shop again, he risked a glance inside. The other man was still in the same position, one leg crossed over the other, although now he stared unseeingly at the phone sitting on his thigh. His eyebrows were drawn together almost carefully, as if they’d shifted there slowly in an attempt to not disrupt the endless perfection of his porcelain visage. And then his eyes drifted to the coffee sitting across from him with a pained look.

            He let Kurt down. Blaine turned and disappeared into the crowd of people again, heading for the steps down to the subway. He let him down, he let him down, he  _let him down_. Blaine was almost positive that he was going to throw up and actually debated just walking home. Except that was really fucking far and he wasn’t sure if he felt like freezing his toes off all the way there, even though he deserved it.

            The painted steps were slippery and it was a scene for disaster, but he managed to make it down without falling and breaking his ass.

 

            The entire train ride back to his stop was a ride filled with self-hate.  _Failure. Piece of shit. Loser. Moron. Idiot. Fuck up. Douche bag. Dick head._ Everything that he was now had a name, they weren’t just feelings anymore. He didn’t  _feel_  like shit, he simply was it. Blaine pushed open the lobby doors, marching across the foyer with squeaking, soaked loafers and heading straight for the elevator. The doors squealed their way open, thankfully leaving the lift empty.

            Blaine felt like if there was somebody else on their way up, he would have broken down. He would have grabbed their shoulders and sobbed out all his problems as if they cared. He jabbed the little circle button for the sixth floor that just never seemed to stop fucking blinking. But it was a distraction. For each time the key flashed, it was another second that Blaine held it together. And by the time he counted approximately 21 flickers, the doors dinged open with their signature wail of unhappiness.

            The walk down the hallway felt a lot more like a walk of shame. The fourth light was still burnt out while the seventh buzzed with a noise that it definitely shouldn’t make. The carpets were still grimy and worn, un-cleaned for who knew how long. And then there was his and Christian’s apartment. Theirs was the only door that still held the golden leafed unit numbers and that was only because his roommate was stupidly set on keeping them there.

            “ _What if we invite someone over and they can’t find it? Image is important, Blaine_.” Christian’s voice rang in his ears as Blaine turned his key in the deadbolt. And then he was home. He stepped in the doorway, quickly slamming and locking the door shut behind him before sliding to the floor, fingers breaking through the gel holding his hair. If he was being dramatic, he’d say it was the most he cried at one time ever. But that would have been a lie. It definitely didn’t stop him from feeling that way, though.

 

            Blaine must have fallen asleep at some point. He didn’t know what woke him up but there was a sharp pain in his neck when he moved and his ass was numb from something that wasn’t the cold. He didn’t know what time it was, only that it had gotten significantly darker in the room. Blaine pulled out his cell phone again, turning on the screen and revealing no new messages. 5:12 p.m.  _Shit_.

            Blaine vaguely heard the elevator ping down the hallway and footsteps against the creaky hardwood under the shitty carpet. Maybe it was Christian coming back from wherever the fuck he was last night. The feet stopped outside the door except there was no hand on the doorknob, no key in the lock. There was a shuddering breath on the other side of the thin wood and immediately Blaine knew who it was. There was only one person who inhaled like that when he was worked up and that was Kurt.

            The floor creaked in protest under what must have been a shifting of weight. Part of Blaine wanted him to knock, wanted him to bang on the door and plead to be let in. Beg to help, promise that he could. Promise that Blaine wasn’t alone and that he was  _there_. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut as they welled up once more, gushing out and over his cheeks and dripping onto the knees tucked into his chest.

            “I don’t know if you can hear me. You probably can’t.”  _I can. I can. Please knock._  “It doesn’t matter.”  _Yes it does._  “I’m not sure why you didn’t show up today but I just—you could’ve called, you know?”  _No, because then you would have known how broken I was. You would have heard it and I don’t know if I could handle that._ “You could’ve at least texted me to tell me you didn’t want to see me.”  _I did want to see you. I wanted to so badly._  “Break my heart, Blaine, throw me out on the cold streets and leave me, but don’t give me hope.” There was another shaky inhale and the shift of fabric.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck._  “Because that’s the worst kind of pain you can give me.” And then the footsteps started back down the hallway and Blaine let out a sob, hugging his legs somehow closer to his frame.

             _Get up you fucking useless asshole. Get up and open the door and call him back. Don’t let him walk away from you again._  But the farther Kurt got, the more Blaine rocked on the panelled floor. He was too late. He was always too late. Too late, too late,  _too late_.

            And then he was getting up, fingers fumbling with the lock as tears blurred his vision and stung his eyes and wrenched open the door. To a coffee sitting on the stupid, shabby looking ‘Welcome’ mat. Blaine picked it up, noting that it was still warm and the cardboard cup was sticky, probably from a train ride filled with bumps and sloshes. And the elevator door dinged shut.

             _Too late_. 


	17. If I Sold My Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Eyyyyy, this has been another week and therefor another chapter. Woo. I apologize if this is really choppy or mushy, I've had performance prep basically all week and sitting down just to write has literally been a chore bUT I TRIED I GET POINTS FOR EFFORT. Make sure to read my super awesome magnificent fantastic radical best friend's half; Kurt’s P.O.V. This song is All The Way by Hedley. Enjoy! Comments literally make my world turn so if you want to give any advice or be an absolute dear that would be super freakin' fantastic.

**_If I sold my scars_ ** _,_

_And every song I wrote,_

_Said, “I’m sorry dear I let you down.”_

_If I could trade the stars,_

_And swallow every stone you throw,_

_Would I be sorry that I let you down?_

            Blaine had set the coffee cup on the island, sinking into the stool and staring at it for who knew how long. He didn’t know if he was supposed to drink it, or if it was supposed to just sit there and mock him.  _Look at what you missed. You stood him up and now you have to suffer._  He almost wanted to start crying again, as if he could expel the way he felt through the tears. But he didn’t even deserve that. He didn’t deserve to cry out the pain. No, he deserved to suffer through it and  _deal_  with it because this was his fault and he needed to take responsibility for that.  
  


            Blaine was still watching the cup when the front door opened.

            “Blaine? What are you doing?” Christian’s footsteps were slow across the hardwood, as if he were nervous that moving too quickly would scare Blaine off like a skittish horse.

            “My fault,” he rasped, choking on the words. His fingers clenched around the edge of the counter, eyes blurring over again.  _You’re stronger than this. Don’t cry, you fucking baby._

            “What’s your fault? What happened?” Christian’s palm touched his shoulder, warmth seeping through Blaine’s t-shirt. He wasn’t alone. Christian was there. Christian cared. Didn’t he?

            “I did something stupid and now I can’t fix it. I don’t know how.” Blaine turned to look up at his friend with pleading eyes.

            “But  _what_  did you do? How do you know that you can’t fix it?” Christian slid into the other stool, turning and resting his hands on Blaine’s knees. God, he always knew what to do.

            “Kurt texted me, he wanted to meet up for coffee and talk about what happened on Christmas Eve.” A look passed over his roommate’s face but he stayed quiet. “I agreed and told him I’d meet him. And then I chickened out. I just couldn’t go in. I  _couldn’t_. I was stuck outside the shop looking in and seeing him sitting at that table waiting for me was too much. All I could think about was what it was like in high school. It was the exact same. He even sat the same. And I just… I couldn’t handle it, Christian. I took off and didn’t even text him to tell him I wouldn’t be coming. I stood him up.”  _Fuck_ , there were the tears again. His eyes spilled over and Blaine almost wondered when he’d run out of things to cry about.

            “Well, why didn’t you text him? Even if it was just to make up a lie or something?” Blaine knew he was just trying to help, but it didn’t seem to matter. His reaction would have been the same no matter what.

            “Because I couldn’t! Because I knew I’d be letting him down and I thought that maybe if I just ignored it, it would go away. But it didn’t! And now he’s gone. Maybe forever this time.” His gaze fell back on the coffee cup and he felt like dying all over again. Except he deserved to live, he deserved to deal with what he’d done because this was his fault and he  _deserved_  it.

            “Blaine, calm down.” It was then he realized his breathing picked up, then he realized he felt like he was drowning in air because there was just so much. “You’re going to be okay.”

            “But what if I’m not, Christian? What if he wants nothing to do with me now? What if that was my last chance?” Blaine sucked in another breath, counting to three before letting it out shakily. “What if he’s really gone? God, I came home and just sat on the floor for hours and he showed up and I heard him on the other side of the door. He was talking about how I gave him hope. I  _broke his heart_ , dammit. I wish I could just blame him but this time I can’t because it’s all my fault.”

            “You need to talk to him.” Christian slid off his seat then, as if that was the answer to every problem.

            “I don’t know how. He probably doesn’t want anything to do with me.” Blaine slid forward until his forehead smacked against the countertop.

            “You never know until you try.”

 

            It wasn’t until around 1 the next afternoon that Blaine finally manned up enough to text Kurt.  **I’m sorry.** It seemed so pitiful. It was pathetic, _he_  was pathetic. He should be putting a lot more into this than he was.  **I’m sorry, I panicked and I saw you in there and I just couldn’t do it.**  He was such a fucking coward. A useless coward. At least he was owning up to it, that was an improvement, right?  **I know I should have texted you or called you or did something to let you know that I wasn’t showing up but I was just so ashamed that I let it all get to me and I’m sorry, Kurt.**  He didn’t deserve forgiveness. He didn’t even deserve a response at all. Which was probably exactly why he didn’t get one.

            Blaine slumped down against the couch, not even bothering to sit on the cushions but instead on the floor in front of it. He closed his eyes, head tipping back to stare at the ceiling (something he did a lot recently). Kurt didn’t owe him anything.

 

             _They stumbled through Kurt’s (surprisingly empty) living room, hands locked around each other from the second the door was closed._

_“Kurt. Kurt, don’t you think we should go up to your room?” Blaine gasped out, fingers clenching tightly in the lapels of his boyfriend’s coat in an attempt to hold himself upright._

_“Nobody will be home for hours.” Kurt’s mouth dropped against Blaine’s jaw line, nipping down the side of his throat and eliciting quiet little moans from Blaine. The backs of Blaine’s thighs connected with the arm of the couch, toppling him backwards and dragging Kurt down with him._

_“Ow,” Blaine whined, struggling to scoot down the cushions so that they could lie down properly, which was hard when he had another man’s weight on top of him._

_“God, I love kissing you,” Kurt murmured when they were finally comfortable. Kurt was between Blaine’s spread thighs (which was a chore given how shallow the couch was), rocking slightly and drawing out hushed whines from the both of them._

_“Ditto.” Blaine dropped his head back, exposing his throat to Kurt who took advantage of it immediately, sucking red marks across the tight skin and nipping occasionally. “I’m always worried about someone walking in on us.”_

_“Shh, don’t bring that up. I don’t want a cockblock right now.” Kurt’s hot breath rushed over the damp kisses, making Blaine shiver._

_“It was_ your _dad. That makes it your fault.” Kurt made some nonsensical noise against his collarbone as he drifted downward, fingers coming up to push at the collar of Blaine’s polo and undo the few buttons there._

_“Sit up. Arms up. Please. Need to see you.” Blaine obeyed the order, nudging Kurt off him enough to help remove his shirt. “God, you’re so beautiful.” Kurt’s palms slid up the expanse of Blaine’s chest, nails catching at his nipples on the drag down and wringing out stuttering gasps._

_“So are you.”_

Blaine was jolted out of his memory by the vibration of his phone. He raced to open the message, not even caring who it was from.  ** _That’s a stupid excuse, Blaine. If you didn’t want to see me then you should’ve just told me instead of leading me on._** But he wasn’t making excuses, dammit. He was trying so hard to make things right and fix things and Kurt was making it so  _hard_.  ** _Do you realize I waited two hours for you?_** And boy did that ever hurt a lot more than it probably should have. Of course he knew. He knew because he sat in the damn cold while he suffered through a panic attack and when he came back, Kurt was still in that stupid coffee shop. Of  _course_  he knew.

             **I did want to see you! I did. I’m sorry.**  And he did. He wanted so damn badly. He wanted to stride into the café with all the courage he could muster and sit down across from that man and fucking steal his heart away.

 

             _“Blaine. Blaine. Blaine.” Kurt’s fingernails scratched against Blaine’s shoulders, hips pumping forward and rubbing their clothed erections together for what felt like the millionth time and it was so_ much _but it was so fucking good that Blaine didn’t even care. He didn’t care that the friction was almost painful, he didn’t care that he wanted to feel more skin than just Kurt’s chest catching on his as they rocked, he didn’t care that he was far too sweaty and that his hair was probably a mess because he was with_ Kurt _and Kurt loved him and it almost felt too good to be true._

_Kurt made another high noise in the back of his throat, burying his face against the side of Blaine’s neck as he came with a gasp, body shuddering against Blaine’s and hips jolting forward._

_“Oh God,” Blaine groaned, hands gripping at Kurt’s ass and hauling them together once more before his orgasm washed over him, letting out a cry into the otherwise silent house._

             ** _I don’t think I can believe you this time._**  If Blaine could humanly rip out his heart, he would.

             **Kurt, please. Please give me another chance. Please. I’m so sorry. I panicked and it was too much and I’m SORRY.** Blaine was never one for begging. He was never one to plead for what felt like his life, but here he was.

             ** _I’m sick of playing this game. What do you even want from me? What do you even want to get out of… this?_** Everything.  _Everything_.  _I want so much. I want you. I want to be in your arms and kiss you and let you love me again and let myself love you._

 **You don’t think I’m sick of this? You don’t think I don’t hurt just as much? I get it, Kurt. I know what it’s like to have someone walk away. Don’t you remember? I know what it’s like to be given hope.** It wasn’t what he meant to say, but he couldn’t grovel any more than he already was. He couldn’t look too weak. He wasn’t broken, he was… cracked.  **God, can’t you see I’m trying to fix this?** This. Not me.  **I want YOU. I miss you so much.**  He didn’t mean to send it, but somehow he did. Oh well, it was out now.  **I’m trying, I really am.**

 **_We’ve already been through this, Blaine. And you pushed me away. We can’t fix this –can’t fix you- unless you let me in._** _I’ve tried to let you in but you keep doing stupid shit that makes me want to push you back out. **Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.**_ Why couldn’t he just see that Blaine was trying? It wasn’t fair for Kurt to just expect him to be over everything and come crawling back. And he wasn’t broken. He wasn’t. He was bent and scratched and cracked but he was  _not_  broken. Blaine bit his lower lip, blinking his eyes upward in an attempt to smother down his tears because fuck.

             **I’m trying! I don’t think you understand how hard this is. I’m not broken! I’m not broken. I’m not.**

 **_You /are/ broken, but we can fix this. Together. If you’d just let me break down your walls._**  Blaine wanted to scream and cry and put a hole in the drywall of the room.  _You put them there. You did this._ He knew blaming Kurt for everything was definitely not the way to handle it, but it was someone else to push things onto. And, if he was being honest, a lot of it  _was_  Kurt’s fault.

             **You’re the one who put them there.**  It was true, though. The day Kurt walked away was the day the brick walls were beginning to be constructed. It was the day that he lost hope in the people around him and buckled down to just go it himself; do whatever he wanted because fuck everyone else. He was his own person and he was going to prove that. Looks like he failed.

             ** _I know I hurt you, okay? I know I fucked you up and I’m sorry. How many times do I have to say that before it gets through to you? The past is the past and you know I would change it if I could. But I can’t. So let’s focus on the present and learn from our fucking mistakes, Blaine. I’m trying to fix you. Doesn’t that count for anything?_**  He still didn’t believe he was broken,  _couldn’t_  believe. But knowing that Kurt was literally begging for him to just slow down for one minute and let him in was too tempting.

             **Forget it. I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re always right.** He wasn’t. He wasn’t right when it came to Blaine’s father, he wasn’t right when it came to Blaine’s mother, he wasn’t right about a lot of things.  **Can we just meet for coffee tomorrow?**  And Blaine told himself that he wouldn’t chicken out. That he would beat Kurt there so that he would be ready and didn’t have the time to panic and run again.  **For real this time.**

 **_I don’t know._** _Shit. **Maybe.**_ Good. That was good.  ** _Yes._**  Blaine grabbed a throw pillow off the couch, pressing his face into it and letting out a giddy laugh.  ** _I mean, if you promise you won’t leave me there._**    
             **I promise.** And he did. He promised both Kurt and himself that he would be ready this time.

             ** _I’ll see you._**

             **CC at 2?**

**_CC at 2._**

Blaine smiled against the pillow, fingers hovering over the keys once more.  **Kurt.**  There was no point really, but that didn’t stop him.  **Thank you.**  He chewed the inside of his cheek.  **For giving me a second chance.** And that’s what it was. This was Kurt giving him the chance to prove that he was sorry. To prove that he was really trying to be there. To prove that  _this_  was what he wanted.

             ** _Thank you, too._**    


	18. Give Us Life Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of filly? There’s another OC introduced that literally just smushed his way into my head and I don’t even know where he came from but I flew with it. He (probably) won’t be a reoccurring character, though; just a one-time thing. Anyways; thank you to absolutely everybody who’s reviewed and read. The more reviews/comments the better, if there’s anything particular that you’d like to see happen, feel free to smother me with it and I will make a valiant attempt to squish it in somewhere. Your input is one of my favourite things. This has been another rambling brought to you by Blaine. Make sure to read Kurt’s P.O.V if you haven’t already. This week’s song is We Are Broken by Paramore. Enjoy!

_‘Cause we are broken,_

_What must we do to restore our innocence?_

_And oh, the promise we adored?_

**_Give us life again_ ** _,_

_‘Cause we just wanna be whole._

            Blaine was giddy the rest of the day, drifting around the apartment as if the previous hadn’t even happened. Christian watched him quietly, tucked into the corner of the couch with what must have been his fourth cup of coffee.

            “What happened to you? Yesterday you were all doom and gloom and now you’re walking on the sun. If I didn’t know better I would be convinced that you might actually shit a rainbow.” His roommate quirked an eyebrow, tucking his feet under his body.

            “He forgave me.” Blaine couldn’t stop the little noise that followed. He sounded like he was in a haze; like he was dreaming. He was positively  _floating_.

            “That’s all? You didn’t nail some Broadway audition? Didn’t get a job? Didn’t write a bestselling book?” The corner of Christian’s mouth twitched.

            “I think this is better than any of those things.” Blaine plopped down on the couch beside his friend. “He  _forgave_  me, Christian. I really thought I fucked up for good and he accepted my apology.” His head fell against the back of the couch, smiling up at the ceiling.

            “Is that all?” Blaine tilted his head to eye his friend, eyebrows drawing together slightly before his gaze landed on the teasing smile.

            “Bitch,” Blaine chuckled, mock-punching Christian in the shoulder.

 

            Blaine had the sudden urge to just go out. To get out of the little, admittedly stuffy apartment and enjoy the outdoors just for something to enjoy. He went to his bedroom, planning an outfit, and then planning it again when it didn’t seem right. Christian had stopped in the open doorway, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

            “What the fuck are you doing? Did you tear up your closet just for the hell of it or is there a method to your madness?”

            “There’s always a reason.” Blaine cast his friend a look over his shoulder before turning back to eye the clothing items spread across his mattress.

            “Are you going to tell me or are you on some super secret, high profile, CIA mission?” Blaine choked back a laugh, the noise breaking off in his throat.

            “Maybe I just feel like getting dressed up and going out.” His roommate made a noise of disbelief behind him, taking a few steps into the room to eye Blaine’s choices.

            “You’re getting fancied up and stressing about an outfit just to go outside?”

            “You never know who could be out there, Christian! The world is filled with opportunities.” Blaine pushed out his lip slightly, chewing at the inside as his gaze roamed over the fabric.

            “Is this what you were like before you and Kurt broke up?” Blaine’s face fell slightly, but when he twisted to look at his friend he only found calm curiosity. “All… puppy-like and bouncy and stressing about your looks like any other stereotypical gay man?”

            Blaine let out an indignant cry, giving a feeble slap at Christian’s arm. “How dare you call me stereotypical! I am the Queen, I am certainly not  _typical_.” They stared quietly at each other before breaking down into giggles.

            “You’re the Queen, huh?” Christian poked a finger into Blaine’s side, wringing out more laughter.

            “Shut up, shut up. I was offended and said the first thing that came to mind.” Blaine squirmed away from his roommate, attempting to fight the grin off his face. “Wait, you said puppy.”

            “Blaine, no.” Christian took a step back, palms out as a barrier.

            “Please, oh my God, please can we get a puppy? Please, please, please.”

            “No, no, definitely not, no.” Christian continued his backwards movement to the door.

            “You brought it up! This is your fault. You put this image in my head. I need it. I need a fluffy thing in my arms to cuddle and coo at. I _need_  it.” Blaine chased after his friend, whining as he attempted to push Christian’s extended arms down.

            “Go organize your outfits, gay-face. We aren’t getting a dog.” And with that, his roommate bolted down the hallway.

 

            Central Park was by far one of Blaine’s favourite things about the city. It was somewhere that, without fail, could help him breathe. There was something about how open it felt compared to the compact suffocating proximity of New York as a whole that just let his mind release any of its prior worries and be free.

            The snow had mostly melted overnight, which was surprising but not at all unwelcome. There were puddles here and there, the grass still soaked through which left laying in one of the fields out of the question. Blaine loved people watching. It seemed stupid, but sitting tucked into a corner of one of the benches or in the grass with a book and glasses that never liked to stay on his face and just occasionally watching people go about their days was probably one of his favourite things; aside from making music, of course. Knowing that there were other people that lived in the world and also had struggles just the same as he did was like a welcome reality check.

            There were parents who struggled by with their unruly children, pristine business people with briefcases more likely than not filled to the brim with important papers, straggling homeless men and women begging for change. But that was how he met Hunter.

           

            Blaine had wandered the park for what felt like hours, smiling at the strangers when they cast him a passing glance, whistling quietly to himself, and barely refraining from splashing in puddles like a five year old. And then he saw him. He was young, definitely far too young to be out on the streets. He sat under one of the trees, legs stretched out in front of him and picking worriedly at the acoustic guitar in his lap as if he was scared he was going to break it.

            He had shaggy blond hair that fell over his eyes, barely tanned skin, and clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in days. His hands were wrapped with what looked like must have been a bed sheet once upon a time, probably an attempt at make-shift gloves for the winter. There was an upturned baseball cap between his feet, practically begging for change even though the boy owning it didn’t say a thing. He just frowned at his instrument, pulling at a few of the strings and adjusting the tuning pegs before doing the same thing again.

            Blaine paused a few feet away, observing the boy quietly. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Blaine dug out his wallet, flicking through the few bills in the pouch before unearthing a twenty. There was no harm in giving to those that needed it, right? He made his way over to the boy cautiously, dropping into a crouch in front of the baseball cap where the boy finally looked up. The corner of his mouth twitched before opening.

            “Hi.” He sounded far too good for a homeless person. Usually when Blaine thought of somebody without a home he thought old and questionable drug addicts with broken voices. This kid, however, was definitely not that case. His voice was almost like honey, curling around the word delicately as if he was savouring the way it sounded.

            “Good afternoon,” Blaine responded, smiling widely at the stranger. “What’s your name?” And he almost,  _almost_  slapped himself. You don’t just walk up to some random person and immediately ask their name. Except the boy grinned, showing off a row of (surprisingly) perfect, nearly white teeth.

            “Hunter,” he just sounded so  _friendly_. Part of Blaine wanted to offer him a home on his and Christian’s couch right away. Just say fuck it all and demand that this poor kid just live with them. But he knew that would never happen.

            “I’m Blaine; it’s wonderful to meet you.” He held out a hand slowly, almost worried that he would scare the boy off. Except to his surprise (once again), the gesture was returned. Hunter’s grip was strong, fingers curling around Blaine’s hand as if it were a lifeline.

            “Likewise. Although, if I could ask, why are you talking to me? A lot of people just rush by and pretend that I don’t exist. Sometimes they drop change when I play but otherwise they just carry on as they would.” Hunter’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, lower lip jutting out ever-so-slightly in a way that reminded Blaine much of himself.

            “You looked like you were struggling with your guitar and needed some company.” He nodded toward the instrument which was now facedown on the boy’s lap.

            “Oh.” Hunter’s gaze dropped to the object in question, fingertips running over the wood grain pattern on the back. “Yeah, I guess company would be nice. I don’t get very much of it.”

            Blaine offered him a sad smile, dropping out of his crouch to sit on the pavement (expensive jeans be damned) and cross his legs. “What seems to be the problem with it? You looked like you were having a hell of a time trying to figure it out.”

            Hunter picked up the guitar once more, resting it on his thigh and giving it a forlorn look. “I don’t know. The other day it was just fine and now it won’t tune and it sounds like shit and I have no idea what happened.”

            “May I see it?” Blaine held out tentative hands, wiggling his fingers slightly in the space between them. “I might be able to tell you the problem.” Hunter’s eyes narrowed slightly but he handed over the guitar, careful to make sure that Blaine wasn’t going to drop it or break it anymore than it probably already was. It was obvious that this was the most important thing the boy owned.

            “What makes you think you know more about it than I do?” Hunter’s tone was slightly on edge as he crossed his legs to mimic Blaine’s position, leaning forward slightly over his lap to watch closer at what Blaine was doing.

            Blaine gave a little smile, pointing a finger to himself, “Music major at NYU. I play guitar, piano, violin, drums; you name it, I’ve tried it.” Hunter’s eyes widened slightly and he looked like he was trying to push down a smile. “Your bridge is cracked and the neck is warped. Also one of your tuning pegs isn’t doing its job.” Blaine got up off the concrete, offering a hand to the boy looking up at him. “Come with me.”

            Hunter slowly took the proffered hand, confusion washing over his face as Blaine pulled him to his feet. “Where are we going?” He snatched his hat off the ground, picking out the couple of coins probably thrown there as a float and pocketing them before following after Blaine.

            “We are going to find you a new guitar.”

 

            “Blaine, I can’t afford any of these,” Hunter hissed, sticking close by Blaine’s side and eyeing the instruments on the racks with envy.

            “I can.” The older man waved to the shop owner, casting him a little smile before heading deeper into the shelves. When he turned, Hunter had frozen, staring at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth and Blaine  _almost_  laughed.

            “I can’t let you do that.”

            “I want to. I wouldn’t have brought you if I just felt like making you drool over guitars. I have plenty to spare, it’s not a big deal.” And it was true. Despite Blaine always bitching and crying about not having any money for anything, he did still have what was in the trust fund his grandmother left him. He’d never touched it, hoping to keep it until he absolutely had to; there had to be a couple hundred thousand in it, his grandmother was a lot more well off than she let people believe. But this was important. He was helping somebody else and that made him feel _good_  because he wasn’t selfishly using the money on himself. Maybe while they were there, he would get his own guitar considering the one he used most often was owned by NYU and still at the school.

            “I can’t just let you buy me a new guitar.” Hunter followed after him all the same, though.

            “Sure you can.” Blaine stopped at the back of the store, eyeing the acoustics. When he looked over, the boy was looking at the left-handed guitars instead, fingertips touching gently at the pick guards. “Are you really left-handed? And you’ve been playing a right-handed all this time?”

            Hunter looked back at him, cheeks colouring slightly before dropping his eyes to the floor. “It was a friend of mine’s. He would let me play because I loved it and then eventually just decided to give it to me. I used to have a lefty back home,” his eyes, although trained on the dark maroon carpet, seemed to glaze over slightly, “but then I had to leave. So I’ve just been struggling through playing upside down.”

            “I’m actually pretty impressed. Pick something you like.” Blaine turned back to the racks, taking down a black and white polished Ibanez.

 

            Purchases made, they headed back toward the park, guitars in bags slung on their backs and joking between them. Hunter fell in love with his the second he saw it. It was a dark, dusty looking brown that held a certain vintage appeal to it and Blaine understood exactly why he wanted it so badly. He’d hidden the price tag ridiculously fast, somehow managing not to let the boy see to a point that even he was surprised. Blaine had also bought him a new strap and a couple of picks, as well as a tuner (which was admittedly nothing fancy).

            He just looked so happy. They had stopped in a little café on the way back, grabbing coffees that Hunter insisted he pay for. Blaine let him, not wanting to demolish all of the boy’s pride. Hunter was nineteen, Blaine had found out. He used to live in Brooklyn  before being kicked out for reasons that he didn’t want to share, but by the longing looks he gave some of the more expensive outfits in the windows as they passed that were not-so-obviously of top-designer make gave Blaine a slight idea.

            That was when Hunter stopped him. “Blaine can I ask you something kind of… private? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He was staring at the sidewalk, watching his feet rather than Blaine.

            “Fire away.”

            “Are you… gay?” Blaine glanced down at him then to look into a pair of almost hopeful jade eyes. He knew it wasn’t a romantic thing; the look in the boy’s gaze wasn’t one of adoration but of admiration instead. He was looking for someone to look up to.

            “Yeah, I am.” Blaine gave him a little smile.

            “Okay, good. I mean, not good that you’re gay, well yes good because it’s not bad because I don’t care either way. But good for you that you’re not hiding who you are.” Hunter’s cheeks pinked again and he dropped his eyes back to the path ahead of them.

            “Are you?”

            “Gay? Wh—“

            “Hiding who you are?” Blaine stopped him, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder and forcing him to meet his gaze. “You are, aren’t you?”

            Hunter’s eyes misted over and he sucked in a slow breath before letting it out shakily. “I don’t have a choice. I didn’t have a choice then and I don’t have one now, either.” He looked like he was going to crumble, like if Blaine moved his palm from its place on the other man’s shoulder that he would break into a thousand pieces. It was a face he knew well. It was a face that looked a lot like his own.

            “You always have a choice. I know it might not seem like it right now, but you’ll get there one day. I’m sorry that I don’t know how to be of more help than just an instrument but maybe you’ll at least be able to make some money playing the guitar the right way. You’ll get up there eventually, even if it’s just scraping ends meet with barely earned cash, at least you’ll be somewhere. Just don’t give up, okay? Don’t do what I did.” Blaine squeezed Hunter’s shoulder. “I’m going to hug you now, okay?” Hunter nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Blaine pulled him into an embrace, wrapping his arms around the boy’s shoulders and hugging him close. Hunter’s hands found the small of Blaine’s back, clinging tightly as he let out a sob into the older man’s chest.

            “It’s not fair. I didn’t ask for this.” Blaine knew they were probably crossing so many weird we-just-met boundaries but he could honestly care less. He cupped the back of Hunter’s neck, fingers petting through his dirtied hair.

            “I know. Life rarely is.” He leaned his cheek on the top of the boy’s head, relieved that for once someone who needed comfort was shorter than him. He finally felt like the bigger person, finally felt like being physically larger was a huge factor in giving the feeling of safety. It was a feeling he never got used to, the only person smaller than him he’d ever comforted was Rachel Berry, and that was a long time ago. It had always been the vise-versa and he never understood how someone might like being bigger and looking down on everybody and making them feel safe. He finally got it. “Did you want to come to my apartment? You can shower and I can give you a couple pairs of sweatpants and a coat, maybe a few t-shirts. You could probably stay the night on my couch if you wanted.”

            Hunter pulled back slightly, tucking his face against Blaine’s throat. “You’ve already done so much for me, I don’t want to intrude. Besides, I’m used to the weather by now and I’m afraid that one night inside might throw me off balance. A shower and some new clothes might be really nice, though.”

            “Well, let’s get going.” Blaine pulled away, smiling down at the boy before, on a whim, grabbing his hand.

 

            “You live here?” Hunter’s gaze flew up the building, eyes widening at the height before settling again on the glass lobby doors.

            “It’s not the nicest place, but it’ll do.” Blaine pushed open the door, ushering the boy inside and toward the elevator. “My roommate should be at work or out doing roommate things, whatever those are.”

            Hunter laughed, and for the first time, it sounded like it might be real.

 

            Blaine showed his guest where the bathroom was, giving him a disposable razor as well and teaching him how to work the tricky faucet system of the shower before heading to his room. The empty guitar stand that stood beside his keyboard finally had something to fill it.

            Blaine smiled as he unzipped the case, carefully shimmying the instrument out and sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

            He didn’t remember when he started singing, he didn’t remember when he stood up and started dancing around the room with his guitar. He didn’t remember when he felt so free.

            “ _I feel the salty waves come in, feel them crash against my skin. And I smile as I respire because I know they’ll never win. There’s a haze above my TV that changes everything I see and maybe if I continue watching I’ll lose the traits that worry me_.” Blaine grinned, closing his eyes. “ _Stop there, and let me correct it, I wanna live a life from a new perspective. You come along because I love your face, and I’ll admire your expensive taste. And who cares? Divine intervention. I wanna be praised from a new perspective. But leaving now would be a good idea, so catch me up on getting out of here._ ”

            “You really are a music major aren’t you?” Blaine jumped at the sound of another voice, guitar strings twanging as his hand slipped. He spun to face where Hunter was leaning against the doorframe.

            “Yeah, I really am.” Blaine smiled sheepishly, slowly moving to lay his new toy in its stand. Now that he had a shower and cleaned up, he was a lot more attractive than Blaine actually expected. His hair was a golden blond, not the dirty colour it was before, his arms were toned where they were crossed over his –oh man- bare chest. He was all-in-all a pretty attractive guy.

            “You said you had clothes. I didn’t want to get dressed in dirty things just to get changed.” Hunter’s cheeks flushed a gentle scarlet that also crept down his neck and faded out across his chest. And that was when Blaine realized that his arms weren’t crossed in an attempt to be sultry, but in self-consciousness.

            “Yes, of course.” Blaine moved to his dresser, rifling through some of the things that were on the smaller side for him and picking out a total of four pairs of sweatpants, three t-shirts, an unopened four-pack of boxer-briefs he thought might be appreciated, and a couple pairs of socks.

           

            “I really can’t thank you enough,” Hunter’s voice was quiet as he followed Blaine back toward the living room, now seeming to be a completely new person with his new clothes. Blaine had given him an old backpack he’d never used, one of the ones that had been sitting in his closet for what must have been years (it still even had the tag on it).

            “It’s really no problem.” Blaine reached into the coat closet, picking out an old but suitable winter coat and handing it to his new friend as well. “It’s the least I can do.” Surprisingly, out of the boy’s whole outfit, his boots had managed to hold up the best, but Blaine wasn’t really surprised considering they looked a lot like they could be Docs.

            “Maybe I’ll see you around the park? That’s where I stay most of the time, the streets are too packed and it’s harder to make money when there are more people around trying to do the same.”

            “Maybe I’ll stop by just to see you.” Blaine gave him a grin, opening his arms and pulling Hunter in for one last hug.

            “And Blaine?” Blaine made a humming noise. “Thank you.” With that, he pulled out of the older man’s arms, slinging his bag and guitar over his shoulder and disappearing out of the apartment. And then he couldn’t contain the grin, he couldn’t hold back the joy that spread across his face. He was coming back. He wasn’t just some sad little boy anymore who did drugs and cried about how much his life sucked. He was Blaine Anderson and he was  _back_.

 

            “ _Taking everything for granted but we still respect the time. We move along with some new passion, knowing everything is fine. And I would wait and watch the hours fall in a hundred separate lines, but I regain, repose, and wonder how I ended up inside._ ”

 

            He was Blaine Anderson and he was  _fucking fucked_.

            It started with the second he woke up, or, if he was being technical, the lack of such. Blaine rolled over in bed, content to enjoy the last few minutes before his alarm went off. Well, minutes came and passed and the shrieking tone of Katy’s Perry’s  _Peacock_  never came. He opened an eye to find the numbers on his alarm clock (the backup of course) flashing obnoxiously. Okay, so the power went out or something last night, probably from the slush downpour. But that still didn’t explain why his phone didn’t go off.

            As it turned out, Blaine was just stupid. He had left it on silent and now it was almost a quarter after noon, a fact which sent him cursing and flailing off his bed.

            And then his body wash was empty, forcing him to scrounge up what he could and coming very near to just taking a knife to the container. And then he got shampoo in  _both_  eyes. And  _then_  managed to cut himself exactly seven times while shaving, which was some kind of new record for him.

            But then it was his outfit. First, the inseam of his favourite pair of black jeans decided to rip halfway up his thigh, which of course (naturally) caused a downward spiral for the rest of it. The bright red polo he planned on wearing for some reason didn’t fit in the shoulders the way it was supposed to, all his socks seemed to have  _holes in them_  or went mysteriously missing (and people wondered why he hated them), his belt decided to bite the dust, and then, of all things, his  _silk_  boxers tore in the ass when he bent over. It was nearing 1p.m. and Blaine was  _fucked_.

 

            Eventually (surprisingly) he made it out of the house and managed to hail a taxi –not without screaming his lungs out. He settled on red pants and a black polo (the exact opposite of his original plan) and a bowtie he  _still_  didn’t know the exact colour of.

            Blaine sighed, running a hand over his face and slumping against the stained cushions of his seat. At least he had enough gel to smother his hair.

            “Bad day?” The taxi driver’s eyes were watching him in the rear view mirror. She looked terribly sympathetic, which was almost unheard of.

            “You have no idea.” He was going to be late again and then Kurt was going to hate him forever. God, he sucked so badly.

            “You look like you ran half a mile after not sleeping for three days.” He really hoped she was exaggerating because if she wasn’t Kurt was going to take one look at him and run for the hills.

            “Please tell me you’re kidding. I have a date, and if I look that terribly I’m sure he’ll bolt in the opposite direction.” He saw her mouth twitch slightly; corner quirking into what must have been an encouraging smile.

            “You look fine, I’m sure he’ll fall right into your arms.”

            “I really hope you’re right.”

 

            Miraculously Blaine managed to get to the little coffee shop at exactly 1:49p.m., nearly worshipping the skies for the light traffic for what must have been the first time ever. He ordered both of their coffees, taking the exact same seat that Kurt had chosen and watching the door quietly. He was going to do this. He was here and ready and Kurt was going to walk through that door and Blaine was going to  _woo_  him, dammit. Despite his shitty morning, he was going to make Kurt want him back, make him really and truly forgive him for being an absolute twat. He was going to do this  _right_.

           

            Kurt stepped through the door at exactly 2p.m. and Blaine  _nearly_  threw up. He didn’t look up as he stomped the slush off his boots. He did that weird pausing thing, still staring intently at the carpet while running the tips of his fingers through his hair before puffing out his chest, standing up straight, and heading straight for Blaine’s table.

            What Blaine did was out of impulse; he realized that  _Kurt_  was walking  _toward him_  and stumbled out of his seat, barely swallowing back a pained noise as his knee found the edge of the table and scrambled around to pull out Kurt’s chair before finally sinking back into his own.

            “You came.” If he could have taken back those words, he would have. He would have lassoed them right back down his throat because they made him sound like the faith he had in Kurt was dwindling precariously.

            But Kurt laughed, making a noncommittal noise down at the table as he sat across from Blaine. “Yeah, I did.” And then he looked up and Blaine’s heart literally (probably) froze. Oceanic eyes traced over his face, starting with his smoothed out hair and slowly working downward; nose, cheeks, jaw,  _mouth_ , and then finally eyes.

            Blaine bit his lip, glancing up at Kurt through his eyelashes in a way that he definitely had not meant to be coy but probably ended up looking that way and  _man_  he sucked. “I got you a grande non-fat mocha. I wasn’t sure if you still liked that, but I got it anyways. I can take it back if you want and get you something different—“ 

            “It’s perfect, thank you.” Kurt always knew when to cut him off, when to point out that it was okay and he didn’t need to worry. “So. Hi.”

            Just that little word set Blaine’s heart racing again. He fucking loved this man so much that two little letters made his whole day. “Hi,” he responded, lips stretching into a grin.  _You’re broken. You don’t deserve to be happy. You don’t deserve him_. The smile dropped. “About yesterday—“

            Kurt’s phone went off,  _RENT_  echoing around the little shop and catching the attention of other patrons. Kurt froze in his seat, fidgeting slightly while his eyes searched Blaine’s face. Blaine made a little motion with his fingers, nodding toward where the sound looked like it was coming from. Whenever he tried to do something right, someone always had to fuck it up.

            Kurt’s eyebrows drew together before evening out again. “It’s probably just Rachel calling from work; I’ll tell her I’m busy.” It was almost as if he was speaking to himself, giving a little awkward laugh into the tabletop. Blaine fiddled with his coffee cup. He was losing his chance. Rachel was going to want him to leave and then everything would be ruined—

            “I—Yes, it is.” When Blaine looked up, Kurt looked pained. He was sitting up straighter than he was before and the crease between his brows was back. Blaine just wanted to reach out and smooth all the stress lines on his face. And then he visibly paled, alabaster skin draining completely and  _fuck_  that was not good at all. “I know him, yes.”

            The person on the other end of the line must have been speaking a marathon because the longer Kurt was silent, the more pained he looked. He brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, eyes closing. He looked like he was going to be sick. “Y-yes,” he stuttered, eyes opening again as he swung himself out of his chair, “I’ll leave right now.”  _No, no, no,_ he couldn’t just  _leave_ , they just got here. They were just starting to figure things out! Kurt hoisted his bag up on his shoulder, pushing in the chair and finally,  _finally_ , looking back up at Blaine. “It’s Aaron,”  _No._  “he’s been in a car crash. I’m so sorry, I have to go.” Kurt was quickly retreating to the door, his gaze still resting on Blaine’s face and why the hell didn’t he look even the slightest bit sorry?

            Half of Blaine wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and wail and throw a complete tantrum.  _Why aren’t you paying attention to_ me _? Don’t I matter?_ But he just shrugged, chewing the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

            “I’ll text you,” Kurt called over his shoulder. And then he was gone.

             _He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t want you. He never wanted you. He’s going right back to his fiancé because he loves him. Not you. You aren’t worth his time._  Blaine dropped his eyes to the table again, sucking in a slow breath. He wouldn’t cry, not here.  _He doesn’t_ want _you. You’re worthless and broken._

            Kurt left his coffee. 


	19. Let Me Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you to all the suggestions, my co-author and I have actually incorporated all of them in so far. People wanted to see Hunter again, a lot more than I thought they would, so that was kind of welcome. Blaine also has an emotional bond with his kitchen island, if you can’t tell; that’s his go-to location when he’s sad. This song is Skinny Love by Birdy. Warnings for Seblaine (not detailed), self-harm (not detailed), nightmares, homophobia, hint at past assault, and running out of hot water in the shower so if that scares you the way it scares me then oh boy.

_Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer._

_Tell my love to wreck it all,_

_Cut out all the ropes and **let me fall**._

_Who will love you?_

_Who will fight?_

_And who will fall far behind?_

            Kurt left his coffee. He left his coffee just like he left Blaine; because he didn’t want either of them. Blaine stared at the cup unseeingly, fingers curling tighter around his own.  _You aren’t wanted; you’re just like cold coffee. Nobody wants you._

            It had to be true, why else would everybody leave? His mom, Cooper,  _Kurt_ , his dad; he was just the old coffee that people threw out so they could go to the pot and get another. Get a  _new_  coffee. A new Blaine… a Blaine that wasn’t him.

            His mom was gone, probably with a new husband and new kids; he more than likely never even crossed her mind. Cooper had gone off to Hollywood, and yeah, he had come back, but he hadn’t spoken to Blaine since the hospital. His father went to alcohol a long time ago and Blaine had the feeling that he never actually wanted him in the first place. Kurt had Aaron….

            “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Although, if we’re being honest, you’re the one who looks pretty sore.” The familiar voice jolted Blaine out of his thoughts. He lifted his gaze from the coffee cup across the table to settle on the man that was now in Kurt’s seat. “Long time no see.” Blaine didn’t know if he wanted to smile or cringe. That was  _Kurt’s_  seat. “What? No hello? We haven’t seen each other in three years.”

            “Two. It’s been two years.” The man across from him quirked an eyebrow, smirking in a way that drowned Blaine in nostalgia.

            “Keeping count of the days, are you?”

            “Sebastian, please don’t do this right now. If you continue to mess with my head I’ll either explode or start crying and neither of those sound particularly appealing right now.” Sebastian’s face fell slightly, pursing his lips before dropping his gaze to the cup resting on the table.

            “GNFM. Grande non-fat mocha? Didn’t you and Tickle-Me-Doughface break up?” The smirk was back and Blaine was seriously debating clawing it off.

            “We’re friends.” And man, did that ever hurt a lot more than it should have.  _Friends_. Were they even that anymore? Did Kurt even want to be his friend? Did Blaine want to be his?

            “So, did he stand you up? Too busy taking it from some other guy to show for your little coffee date?” Blaine blinked down at the table, sucking in a shuddering breath and trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. He was joking; he didn’t mean it. This was  _Sebastian_. He didn’t know anything.  _Kurt doesn’t want you_.

            “No, he was here. He just had something more important to do.”  _Everything is more important than you_.

            “Blaine, breathe. You look like you’re going to pass out. I won’t pry.” Blaine brought his eyes back up to Sebastian’s surprisingly sympathetic expression.

            “Thank you.” The other man gave him a little smile before leaning over the table slightly.

            “Need something to get your mind off it?”

            “Sebastian—“

            “I’m being serious. You’re obviously not important enough to him for him to want to stick around; so why don’t you prove that what he does doesn’t define you? Be adventurous, get out and live. Fuck whoever you want because you’re Blaine Anderson and nobody gets to take that away from you.” If only Sebastian knew how much he’d been getting out and living these past few years; Blaine was almost sure that he ranked higher on the one night stand scale. But he was right; he was so right. He wasn’t useless just because Kurt didn’t want him. He wasn’t a failure because his father called him one. He didn’t suck at everything just because Cooper told him he did. He was not unwanted because his mother left him behind. He was just the man strong enough to get back up from it all.

            “You’re right.” Blaine slid out of his seat, grabbing both coffee cups and throwing them in the trash.

            “I am? I mean, yeah, of course I am.” The other man’s eyes followed him to the garbage and back, pleased smirk settling right back in place.

            Blaine sunk into his chair once more, folding his hands on top of the table and eyeing Sebastian skeptically. Speaking of fucking whoever he wanted to. “Wanna know something that you never ever succeeded at?”

            The taller man’s eyebrows drew together slightly, lips pursing as he thought about what Blaine was saying. “And what might that be? Because I definitely succeeded at a lot; I seem to have lost count.”

            “You never succeeded to get in my pants.” Blaine sat back, crossing his arms over his chest and shooting Sebastian a triumphant grin.  

            “In my defense, you were playing hard to get. And I didn’t actually  _try_ ; if I had, you’d have fallen right into my arms.” Sebastian braced his forearms on the edge of the table, leaning over the surface slightly.

            “Oh please, you were definitely trying. Constant compliments, obviously ogling my ass, touching me whenever you could. You were not subtle.”

            “I wasn’t sure if you noticed the staring, you were pretty oblivious back then. You were the hardest to make flop, surprisingly. You had a boyfriend who I knew you weren’t getting it from and I was basically  _offering_  you sex and you declined. I don’t know if it was your pride in the way or you actually had morals unlike the vast majority of men nowadays, or if you actually genuinely cared about him. Or if you were just a prude.”

            Blaine let out a snort, rolling his eyes. “Definitely not a prude.”

            “ _Definitely_  not? You sound pretty sure of yourself. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually fuck someone after Twinkle-Tush.”

            “There were unquestionably a lot more after.” Sebastian seemed thrilled, which was slightly nerve-wracking.

            “I didn’t think the bowtie-wearing-preppy had it in him.” Sebastian’s eyes slowly trailed over Blaine’s body for what must have been the millionth time.

            “Image. I’m not a bowtie-wearing-preppy anymore.” With that Blaine quickly undid the bow sitting at the hollow of his throat, letting it hang off his shoulders.

            “Come home with me.” Blaine almost fell off his chair. He nearly knocked over the table and slid to the floor because  _where the fuck did that come from?_  He was practically positive that he was gaping like a fish. “Kidding.” Sebastian was laughing, red in the face and gripping the edge of the table. And then it hit him;  _show that what he does doesn’t define you_. He didn’t need Kurt. He didn’t need him to  _fix_  him. He was his own person and he was going to do what and  _who_  he wanted.

            “Okay,” Blaine responded, sliding out of his chair and grabbing his coat off the back. It was Sebastian’s turn to flounder. The other man’s mouth opened and closed a total of three times before he finally managed to get a hold of himself and realize what was actually happening.

            “What? Really?” Sebastian blinked up at him, eyes slightly glazed over and Blaine could almost see the ‘am I dreaming?’ running through his head.

            “Yes really. You’re finally getting your wish.” Blaine turned toward the door, striding confidently out of the shop and it just felt so damn _good_. Because he was letting go. He was finally letting go of Kurt for real. If Kurt wanted to get married to that sap, he would let him. He didn’t need Kurt to fix him, he didn’t need someone to come into his life and try and help him live it. He was going to live for himself.

            He heard Sebastian obviously stumble from his seat, the legs of the chair scraping unhappily against the tile as he chased after Blaine.

 

            “You really want to do this?” It was a question that had been asked approximately four times every ten minutes and Blaine was very near considering just going home.

            “Sebastian, if I didn’t I wouldn’t be here right now standing outside your door which you refuse to open without being completely two-hundred and ninety percent certain that I am dead set on having you fuck me until I can’t remember my name.” Blaine let out a noise, leaning against the wall and casting his eyes to the off-white vestibule ceiling.

            “I’m just trying to make sure that you’re not just doing this to do this,” Sebastian mumbled, finally fiddling with his key ring and attempting to unlock his apartment.

            “You spent how long chasing after me in high school? I didn’t think ‘are you sure?’ was in your vocabulary.” This was a stupid idea; Blaine knew that after the sixth time Sebastian asked. What was the point in blowing off steam if his methods were just going to create more?

            “Retract the claws, Blainey. Four hours ago you were still looking immeasurably distraught over another man.” Sebastian finally got the door open, stepping inside and immediately toeing off his shoes before removing his coat and hanging it on the tree. Had it already been four hours? Had the subway really taken that long? That meant it was already around 7p.m. and Blaine really didn’t want to take the train again tonight if he didn’t have to. He followed Sebastian inside, shucking off his leather jacket and hanging it on the coat tree as well before slipping out of his shoes. It was a small little apartment very similar to Blaine’s own; except it didn’t feel  _lived_  in, it wasn’t a home. There was Ikea furniture for Christ sake.

            “Are you just going to stand there and silently judge my house or are you going to come to bed?” Blaine blinked, only now realizing that Sebastian was halfway to what must have been his bedroom, walking backwards as he unbuttoned his shirt and watching Blaine quietly. He was doing this, he was going to sleep with another man just because he could and he was  _not_  going to think about Kurt.

            Thinking about Kurt only made everything worse; it was like rubbing salt in the wound because Kurt didn’t  _want_  him. Blaine quickly followed after Sebastian, dropping his hands to start working on his belt.

 

            It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work. Blaine sat up on the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on his (bare) knees and running his fingers through his hair. It stuck in odd clumps, clinging together in tufts where the gel had somehow managed to keep its hold. He just knew he looked like a drowned rat, he felt the part, too. Sebastian was snoring softly on the other side of the bed, sheets pooled around his hips. Blaine glanced up at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside him. 3:20a.m. He didn’t remember what happened, not really, anyways. He remembered having sex with Sebastian, he remembered closing his eyes and tossing his head back and trying so hard to believe that it was Sebastian grunting and sweating above him rather than the images of Kurt. He tried so hard.

            Blaine didn’t realize that his vision was blurring until he blinked and a tear rolled off his cheek. He was so stupid, so  _naïve_  to believe that he’d be able to just forget. He had been able to before though, so why was now so much harder? Why was it so  _hard_? Blaine slid off the bed, wandering around the small room and gathering the clothes he thought were his before heading to the bathroom. He’d shower and leave. Sebastian didn’t have his phone number, he wouldn’t be able to text him or find him ever again. It would be as if he never existed.

            Blaine flicked on the bathroom light, quietly closing the door behind him and setting his pile of clothing on the tile, rifling through it and making sure that what he had was actually his and that he hadn’t missed anything. By what must have been sheer luck, every article belonged to him.

            The pipes rattled to life, shower head sputtering slightly before finally giving a choppy but constant stream of hot water. Blaine stepped into the tub, pulling the curtain shut behind him and letting the heat patter against his back. Maybe if he stood there long enough the water would wash away everything he felt; his feelings, his regret, his pain. Maybe he’d forget what he did. No, the way his ass twinged with every wrong shift wouldn’t let him forget that.

            Blaine leaned his forehead against the tile wall, sucking in a shaky breath. He closed his eyes, trying to focus strictly on the hot streams washing over his body. The wall was cool against his skin, a firm pressure between his eyes that just ruined the illusion that he wasn’t dreaming, that this was real and he had to face it because this was his life.

_“Blaine Anderson, I swear to everything that is holy, if you splash me with that horrible water I will withhold sex for two weeks.” Kurt was eyeing him carefully over the rims of his sunglasses. Blaine was in the pool, arms resting on the ledge and watching Kurt mischievously. The older boy had a book in his lap, stretched out on one of the patio chairs with legs crossed at the ankles, content to soak up the sun (with his approximate fifty layers of sunscreen) and enjoy his reading._

_“I’m positively hurt that you would accuse me of such a thing, Mr. Hummel.” Blaine pressed a palm to the middle of his sternum, sucking in an obvious gasp of disbelief. Kurt quirked an eyebrow, cheek twitching as he kept his gaze on Blaine warily._

_“Blaine, I’m not kidding. This is a brand new book and I just bought these shorts and if you get either of them wet I will end you.” Kurt slowly looked back down at the pages, but not without giving Blaine another pointed glare. Blaine bit his lip to hide his grin, slowly sinking down so that only his eyes were visible over the edge of the pool. “What in God’s name are you doing?”_

_“The mighty hunter first stalks his prey.”_

_“Blaine.” Kurt snapped his book shut, quickly putting it behind the chair and taking off his sunglasses to openly scowl at his boyfriend._

_“He observes the way his victim acts in its surroundings before carefully calculating a route of execution.”_

_“Blaine Devon Anderson, take everything you’re thinking right now and drown it because I’m telling you no.” Kurt got up from his seat, nervously watching the boy in the pool as he backed away. Blaine followed him around the edge, inching in whatever direction Kurt went. Kurt let out a squeal as Blaine heaved himself out of the water and perched on edge of the concrete._

_“The hunter then moves in for the kill.”_

_“Blaine!” the taller boy shrieked, bracing himself behind another one of the chairs. Blaine slowly crept across the pavement on his toes and the tips of his fingers, leaving a trail of water back toward the pool where it dripped off his suit. “Three weeks! A month! I will withhold sex for a month!”_

_Blaine pounced, knocking over the chair at the same time as his arms locked around Kurt’s shoulders, dragging him down into the garden against the fence. They crashed into the dirt with a shriek of agony from Kurt and a pleased noise from Blaine._

_“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you so much. Get off of me you disgusting beast. Now I’m dirty_ and _wet and my clothes are_ ruined _. If I knew that having a boyfriend was like owning a dog I would have been content to be single forever.” Blaine grinned, shaking his head and laughing at the squawk that followed when the water from his hair splattered across Kurt’s face._

_“You don’t hate me.”_

_“No, I’m pretty sure I do. Now get_ off _, you mutt.” Kurt shoved at Blaine’s chest, squirming underneath him._

_“I’m a dog, huh?”_

_“Don’t even think about it.”_

_“I’m a dog?”_

_“Are you deaf? I said don’t.”_

_“But I’m a dog though, right?”_

_“Get your filthy, disgusting tongue away from my face, you absolute slob!”_

            The water was starting to go cold. Blaine didn’t know how long he had been standing there; it had to be more than an hour if the hot water was finally cutting out. Sebastian probably wouldn’t be happy about that but Blaine didn’t really care.

 

             _“Hey Kurt, hey, hey, Kurt.”_

_“What do you want?” Kurt slowly lowered his book, visibly trying not to scowl at his boyfriend on the floor at the foot of the bed._

_“You should come here.”_

_“No, I don’t think I should. You ruined my clothes after I told you not to, and_ then _you licked my face. I think you deserve to suffer down there all by yourself.” Kurt brought his book back up. Blaine pouted from his seat on the carpet, dropping his gaze to rest on Kurt’s ankles which were carelessly stretched in his direction. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it.” Blaine slowly slid his palm along the comforter before locking his hand around one of Kurt’s feet, hauling him down the bed slightly to get a grip on his calves and drag both him and the bedding onto the floor._

_“I wanted to tell you something and you weren’t listening to me.” Blaine scowled as he rolled them over, pinning Kurt to the floor and slapping a hand over his mouth. Kurt glared, eyes icy and piercing while his jaw worked against Blaine’s palm. “I love you.” The glare softened and Blaine could feel the way Kurt’s lips stretched under his hand. He slowly uncovered Kurt’s mouth, leaning down to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s mouth. Or he would have kissed him if he wasn’t shoved off. “That was rude.”_

_“I love you, too, you idiot. You dragged me off the bed just to tell me that and I don’t know if I should find it romantic or annoying that I now have to get comfortable again.”_

Blaine was shaking. The water was definitely cold now, chilling him to the bone and raising goosebumps on every plain of skin. He didn’t know what time it was, didn’t know whether Sebastian was aware that he wasn’t in bed anymore. He didn’t know what to do.

            He slowly turned, teeth chattering as he twisted the knobs (the hot one useless now anyways) to  _off_. He stepped out of the tub, pulling one of the bleached white towels off the rack and wrapping it around his waist before taking another and draping it over his shoulders. Blaine slowly sunk down against the door, pulling the material tighter around his body before resting his forehead on his knees. This was a mistake. In a way, Blaine knew it was from the moment he took Sebastian’s offer. He knew that he shouldn’t have wanted to, knew that it wasn’t going to help. But he pushed it aside and tried to believe for himself that it might.

            Blaine wound his arms around his legs, pulling them ever closer to his bare chest. He was stupid. He had always been stupid; from the day he let Kurt walk away from him at the Lima Bean until now, he hadn’t grown any. He was just a sad little boy from Ohio who loved bowties and wanted to be loved.

 

            After finally heaving himself off the bathroom floor and changing into yesterday’s clothes, he left the bathroom. The clock in Sebastian’s kitchen said that it was nearing 6a.m. meaning that the other man was probably going to be getting up soon seeing as it was a Wednesday and without a doubt had work. If he even worked. Blaine tugged on his shoes, taking his jacket off the coat tree and slipping it on. He felt like he should leave something for Sebastian, felt like he deserved to at least know that he had been there. Blaine moved back into the kitchen, tearing a sheet off the notepad that was probably there for shopping list purposes and grabbing a pen off the island. He sat at the counter, clicking the pen as he stared at the blank slip of paper. The empty lines seemed to be mocking him.

            In the end, Blaine just settled with  _Sorry –B_. It was innocent enough. It was enough. He didn’t need to explain himself; he didn’t need to give any reasons. From what he knew, he could convince himself that it was a one night stand and he was following the stereotypical etiquette.

 

            The New York streets were far from quiet, as always. Part of Blaine wanted to see if he would be able to walk all the way home; a four hour train ride could only mean hell for his feet if he took to the pavement. Blaine hailed a taxi.

 

            It’d taken nearly two hours to get home in a vehicle and Blaine was glad that he hadn’t tried to hoof it. The taxi had dropped him off a few blocks away as per Blaine’s request; he wanted enough time to have to walk, to be able to try and soak in the rising sun and the chilly air and just the feeling of being alive.

            “Blaine! Wait up!” Blaine spun on his heel, gaze chasing after the sound of his name and the voice that seemed so familiarly unfamiliar. Hunter. The boy was jogging down the sidewalk, guitar that Blaine bought him strapped to his back and he couldn’t help but smile. “What’s up?” Hunter was so smiley, he looked so much happier from when Blaine saw him last, which was only two days ago.

            “Hey.” Blaine knew he didn’t sound good, he knew that there were still creases in his forehead and that his smile probably looked fake. “Nothing, just got back from a friend’s house, you?” He tried to look normal, he really tried.

            “There’s a whole lot of something happening here, you’re a bad liar.” Hunter gave him a look, it was that look that Kurt gave him a lot when he knew he was hiding something. Blaine hated that look; he was an actor, he should be able to mask these things.

            “I’m just dealing with a lot and I thought it was getting better but it isn’t and it just sucks.” Blaine sunk down on the bench beside the glass doors, leaning his face into his hands and letting out a sigh. Hunter sat down beside him, swinging his instrument off his back and leaning it between his feet.

            “Is there anything I can do to help?” Did Blaine ever wish.

            “I don’t think so, I think this is just something I need to get sorted out on my own, if that ever happens.”

            “Boyfriend troubles?” Blaine winced. Hunter made a sort of sympathetic noise. “Ex-boyfriend troubles.”

            “We were together four years ago and I was pretty certain that he was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. And then things happened and stuff got out of hand and we had a bad breakup and then recently I thought we were going to try again but he’s got this fiancé from hell and—“

            “Blaine, you’re rambling.” There was a warm, comforting pressure on his thigh and Blaine looked down at Hunter’s hand. “Have you tried talking to him?”

            “Yeah. I mean, we were going to have a coffee date yesterday and then he ran off back to his lover and I really wanted things to work out but now they just kind of suck and it’s kind of all my fault.” Blaine sighed, leaning back and letting his head smack against the brick wall.

            “I mean did you  _really_  talk to him? Not just think you were telling him what you needed to and leaving it at that. He probably isn’t a psychic and when it comes to a relationship you really need to spell things out for each other. From what I’m hearing, neither of you spelt anything out and you’re kind of in this little mess now, aren’t you?” How a nineteen year old had more smarts than Blaine was beyond him. Because Hunter was right. Both him and Kurt had sort of been beating around the bush in more ways than one, they had never really sat down and talked things out and really got everything settled the way it probably should be. God, Blaine really was stupid.

            “I don’t know how you’re so smart, but you are.” Blaine sighed, looking over at the boy with a little smile.

            “Sometimes you just need someone from the outside to give you another perspective.” Hunter shot him a wink, patting at Blaine’s leg in a sort of affectionate way before pulling back. “Take it as a thank you for helping me out the other day. Which, by the way, was so awesome. I made almost a hundred dollars today, can you believe that?” He looked so happy and carefree and  _alive_  that Blaine envied him. He almost wished he could get excited over making money on the streets.

            “That’s so great,” Blaine replied with a grin before getting up off the bench. He still felt sort of empty, no matter what Hunter’s words meant they still didn’t make him feel like any less of a complete and utter moron. “I better turn in. I only slept about four hours and I can hear my sheets calling from here.” Hunter just stood up and wrapped Blaine in a brief hug before pulling back and holding him at arm’s length.

            “Just don’t beat yourself up about this too badly, okay? Hurting yourself will only make it worse for everyone.” The boy patted at Blaine’s cheek before grabbing his guitar and swinging it up on his back again and starting off in the opposite direction.

            “Hunter?” He turned around slightly, casting a questioning look over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

 

            Blaine felt a little better. He felt like instead of drowning, he was occasionally breaking the surface and sucking back a lungful of air before being dragged back under. He froze outside his apartment door, staring stupidly down at the bouquet of roses resting on the  _Welcome_  mat. They almost looked random; violets, whites, pinks, yellows. And there was a single tag attached.  _I’m sorry for what I did to you_  was all it read and somehow, Blaine knew it was meant for him.

 

            He was sitting at the island when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He almost forgot the thing existed and when he pulled it out, he almost wished it didn’t.  **Hey, I’m really sorry about yesterday. Rain check?**  It was just after 10a.m. and Blaine didn’t know if he wanted to throw his phone or cry. Needless to say, he didn’t answer Kurt’s text.

 

            Christian wasn’t home. Christian was never home anymore. There was a note stuck to the fridge that said he was out with Rachel which translated messily to  _out trying to bone Rachel_  which admittedly couldn’t be that hard if he’d already succeeded once. Christian was nothing if not obvious. It’d been hours. Blaine had been sitting on the uncomfortable island stool for what must have been racking up to six hours and he didn’t feel a thing. Part of him wanted to go to bed, wanted to lie down and just sleep for the rest of the week and forget about everything. So he tried.

 

             _He was running and he couldn’t remember what he was running from. Blaine could hardly breathe, the cold air stinging at his lungs as the brick walls seemed to try and close in around him. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, urging him onward and deeper into the darkness despite the cramp starting up in his calf and the way his thighs just_ ached _. And then he heard the voices, the voices he was almost sure he’d forgotten._

 _“Hey fag! Stop running and we won’t hurt you!” There was laughter, the noises bouncing off the walls and chasing him as well as the footsteps. He had been here before, it was all so familiar except so_ different _. Everything felt wrong. He wasn’t a teenager, he was still_ him _. Blaine knew it was ending seconds before it did, knew that he was going to hit a dead end and they’d finally catch up with him and he would lose to them again._

 _Blaine’s shoes were soaked, catching on the pavement as he skittered to a halt in front of the brick, palms frantically searching for some way,_ any _way out. He knew he was stuck, he knew that the four men behind him were going to be there any second._

 _“Blaine.”_ No _. No, that was wrong. They didn’t know his name. They weren’t supposed to call out to him. They were supposed to call him names and beat him up and leave him in the rained-out alleyway for some shopkeeper to come along and find. Blaine spun around, facing not four men but one. He was slender, broad shoulders tapering into a trim waist and—hair that swooped up off his forehead out from under the rim of the hood pulled over his head. “Why do you keep running from me, Blaine?” The high voice echoed around the alley, drilling itself into Blaine’s head and tormenting him. This wasn’t supposed to happen._

_Blaine let out a choked noise, wrapping his arms around himself as he stepped back to press himself against the wall. This was all wrong. The silhouette of the man stepped closer and Blaine started crying. This wasn’t fair._

_“Why the fuck do you keep running from me?” the voice snapped as he took another step in Blaine’s direction._

_“I’m sorry.” Blaine crumbled, sliding down the wall._

_“You don’t get to be sorry. You’re useless, Blaine. You’re absolutely useless. Nobody wants you because you don’t do anything for them. You look after nobody but yourself, and even then you do a half-ass job. You’re a_ loser _, Blaine. Nobody wants to be with a loser.” And then he was right there, standing over Blaine’s body as he mocked, piercing blue eyes somehow visible in the darkness. “You aren’t wanted. I don’t want you, your parents don’t want you, your brother doesn’t want you, hell, I’ll be damned if Christian even wants you. He’s always with Rachel now. He’s moved on.” He couldn’t breathe; he was suffocating under the words. The man reached out a hand, cold, long, pale fingers grasping Blaine’s chin and tilting it upwards. “You’re disgusting.”_

Blaine bolted upright, a sob breaking through his lips as the shakes set in. It hurt so much more than anything physical ever could have. It hurt because of who said it, it hurt because of what he said, and it hurt because it was  _true_. He was so useless, sitting in this shitty little apartment all by himself crying in the middle of the night over a nightmare like a pitiful child.

            Blaine dug his fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands sharply as the tears washed over his cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way; he wasn’t supposed to hurt so fucking much. Things were supposed to get better; he was supposed to  _get better_. Blaine’s chest ached, the shuddering breaths he sucked in making it feel like his ribs were cracking. It redefined heartache.

 

            After the trembles subsided, Blaine could focus. His forearms itched, wanting,  _needing_  something. He needed to get it out, needed to focus on something physical rather than the mental assault that was wreaking havoc on his sense of mind. Blaine went to the bathroom and tore up his razor.

 

            It was exactly 4:03a.m. when his phone rang. Blaine was slouched against his mattress, staring pointlessly up at the darkened ceiling like maybe it held the answers he needed. It had rung a few times throughout the night and Blaine didn’t pick them up, assuming that if he was needed, they would leave a voicemail. When there wasn’t one, he just put up another tally mark for another thing he wasn’t  _needed_  for.

            His phone kept vibrating from his nightstand and he ignored it. His arm stung a little, but it was welcome; it numbed the pain that twisted through his heart and poked needles at his brain. He’d wrapped it after he was done doing what he needed to do, out of necessity rather than want. If Blaine had it his way, he would have let himself bleed all over the floor. But bloodstains were hard to get out of carpet and he didn’t want to try and explain himself to the cleaners.

            And then the voicemail came through.  _This is Blaine. Leave a message after the beep._ “It’s…” the voice cracked and there was a barely audible sniff. “It’s Kurt. I’m at a club on fifty-fourth street—fuck, it was a mistake to come—I… I’m alone. I’ve been alone. God, I can’t focus.” Why was Kurt calling him? Why did Kurt want to talk to him? Why should Blaine care? And why was he calling in the middle of the night? He was probably drunk. Except he sounded broken, there was definitely something wrong. Half of him wanted to pick up, the other half wanted to die. “There was this guy and he tried to… he tried to… and it just made me realize that… I need you, Blaine. And I—I love you. And I’m  _sorry_  for everything I’ve ever done, I’m so sorry—“ It was broken off with a sob and Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing back the lump in his throat and pushing back the tears. He wasn’t allowed to do this. Kurt wasn’t allowed to just call him and make him forget everything he was suffering through because of  _him_  and expect Blaine to want him back. Blaine wanted him back.

            “I should call Rachel to p-pick me up but I-I… thank you.” There was a slight fumbling, plastic rattling against metal as he hung up. He didn’t know what Kurt was thanking him for. He didn’t know why he suddenly wanted to be with him. What happened to his fiancé? There were so many mixed messages and he didn’t know how to handle them all. Blaine pulled his thighs up against his chest (a position that he seemed to end up in a lot as of lately) and pushed his eyes into his knees. Everything hurt so much and he just wanted it all to stop because it wasn’t  _fair_.

            It wasn’t fair. 


	20. Our Sorry Little Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter to those who celebrate it, or Merry Sunday to those who don’t! This chapter might actually be the last angsty one for awhile because we want to give you wickedly awesome people a break. Thank you so much to all of you who read this, and an extra thank you to those who review because that’s just so spectacular of you. This song is A Love Like War by All Time Low. Warnings for Seblaine, self-harm, mentions of rape, and treating chips like a breakfast meal.

_Make a wish on **our sorry little hearts** ,_

_Have a smoke, pour a drink, steal a kiss in the dark,_

_Fingernails on my skin like the teeth of a shark,_

_I’m intoxicated by the lie._

            Blaine woke up around 10a.m. the next morning, pressing his fingers into his eyes as if that would push away the light streaming through his blinds. His neck felt like he’d been sleeping on his head the whole night and his back somehow seemed to agree with that.

            Blaine slowly opened his eyes, squinting up at the ceiling. Everything ached and he just wanted to go back to sleep. He shivered, feeling around on his bed for the sheet that had mysteriously gone missing. Except he wasn’t on his bed, he was on the floor. That explained the pain. Was he hungover? He didn’t remember drinking the night before; come to think of it, he didn’t remember much.

            He slowly pushed himself off the floor, grunting as his back protested and his knee didn’t seem to want to bend. He felt…  _old_ , if that was what old felt like. Not that he would know. Blaine dragged himself to the shower, hoping that the hot water would loosen up the fuckery that was his muscles.

            In the end, the shower didn’t do much. He felt tight all over and the ‘hot’ water was actually only just barely warmer than body temperature which admittedly didn’t make things any better. Blaine wandered from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist as he made a valiant attempt to massage his own back on the way to the living room.

            Where he was met with flowers. There was a crystal vase sitting on the island carved with curling floral patterns, and it was filled with a mush of colourful roses. Blaine eyed it carefully, edging his way toward the counter. He didn’t remember flowers, and he knew for a fact (somehow) that Christian hadn’t been home recently. So that meant that they could only be his, which meant he brought them in last night, which meant that something important definitely happened.

            He reached out for the little card hanging off the plastic stick that was wedged in with the stems of the flowers.  _I’m sorry for what I did to you_. There was no signature, no return number, nothing. Blaine leaned his hip against the island, staring at the little slip of paper. He couldn’t even tell whose handwriting it was.

 

             _Later, he would realize that this was a mistake. He would regret every single thing that happened, but that was later and this was now and right now, he didn’t regret it at all. Blaine leaned his forehead into his arms, spreading his legs behind him slightly as Sebastian’s index finger ran lightly over his entrance. Everything felt so good and he would be damned if the thought of Kurt ruined this for him._

 _Sebastian was making quiet noises behind him as he worked Blaine over, fingers stretching and moving and_ just right _but so_ wrong _and he just didn’t care. He was going to enjoy having pointless, meaningless, emotionless, useless sex with this man if it killed him. Come to think of it, it probably would._

 _Sebastian rolled him over, kneeling up between his thighs and reaching for the condom on the pillow beside Blaine’s head. Half of him wanted to say not to use it, but the other half, the somehow more rational side, warned him that it was a horrible idea and even though he had to_ wait _to be filled, it was for the best._

_And then he didn’t like it. Sebastian was pushing into him slowly and everything was wrong. So, so wrong. The other man was too thin, his hips settled uncomfortably against the inside of Blaine’s thighs, his shoulders weren’t thick enough, his dick, although lengthy, didn’t have the girth that Blaine was so used to. He also did this weird panty-thing where his breath caught and he shuddered; it was probably attractive to other people but he just couldn’t see it._

_Sebastian’s hair flopped over his forehead as he worked his hips back and forth and Blaine almost wanted to cry. The hands on his sides were too wide, the fingers weren’t long enough and they didn’t press into his skin the right way. The arms were too wiry, and again, maybe some guys liked that, but he couldn’t see how._

_So Blaine tipped his head back, squeezing his eyes shut to hold back the tears as he tried to imagine that the hipbones jabbing against his legs were softer, that the fingers were clenching at his sides rather than just holding, that the odd gasp-breath-shudder was a high, quiet moan, that the cock pumping in and out of him was thicker and filling and_ perfect _._

_Blaine came first and it was a relief when he did because then he didn’t have to try so hard to imagine someone else to get him to the edge rather than constantly getting ripped back into reality when Sebastian shifted positions._

_He came with a shudder, body quaking slightly as come rushed over his own fingers. He probably wouldn’t have been able to get there if Sebastian had taken it upon himself to finish Blaine off; even the idea of his hand (the_ wrong _hand) wrapping around him almost ruined it._

 _Sebastian followed almost immediately, curling over Blaine’s body as his hips did a funny little jerking motion while he groaned (almost_ too _obscenely if that was possible) against the skin of Blaine’s chest. He pulled out far too slowly for Blaine’s liking, peeling off the condom before flopping on the other side of the bed and promptly passing out. That was when he started crying._

 

            He barely caught himself as he stumbled back toward the hallway, fingers slipping on the doorknob of his bedroom. It was all coming back and he was so  _so_  stupid. Blaine grabbed his phone off the nightstand, going through his call history. Kurt had called him last night, why didn’t he remember that? He also had a missed call from Christian (probably telling him that he wouldn’t be home) and three from that unknown number that was ever returning and he was just too lazy to block.

            A streak of red on his right forearm caught his attention. He’d self-harmed again, he’d hurt himself and he didn’t even realize it until now. He had ignored the barely there sting in the shower when the soap washed over him, too distracted with the chill of the water. And for some reason, he didn’t realize the bloodied gauze wrapping pushed up against his nightstand where it had probably fallen off during the night.

 

             _Breaking apart his razor was actually a lot harder than he thought it was going to be. Blaine heard about people doing it all the time, that it was the fastest way to get some relief when you had nothing else. Except as his fingers slipped for the fourth time, he was ready to give up. Tears clouded his vision as he tried again, chewing his lower lip and just willing the stupid flimsy plastic to break._

_He twisted the head to the side once more, letting out a breath as it snapped and it was one of the most glorious sounds he’d ever heard. Part of him wanted to sit in the tub, maybe run some freezing cold water and just sit there and take it while he did his business. He settled for dropping down on the closed lid of the toilet, bracing his elbow against his knee and just staring at his forearm. He was a living tally chart. Dozens of even, smooth lines crisscrossed over the once perfect skin. And it wasn’t just his arm; there were a few pressed together over his left hip, five on the inside of his right thigh, and three on the inside of his right calf. He was a walking disaster and here he was setting up to ruin himself even more._

_He followed the twisting lines once more before, for the first time, switching arms. It wasn’t a pain thing, he was just right handed and so marking up his left arm was the easiest. But for some reason, he felt the need to shake things up, felt that this was enough reason to press his feelings into the once flawless skin of his right arm._

_The first drag made Blaine shudder. His eyes rolled back slightly as the metal slid through his skin like butter and it was instant relief. He felt like he could breathe again, even though everything was slightly hazy and floaty; he was alive and this was proof._

 

Blaine was lying on his bed, still not dressed, and staring at the ceiling. It was a position he ended up finding himself in without real reason. There was something about the roof that was calming, that settled his thoughts and just let him float. He didn’t have to feel.

            Part of him wanted to check the voicemail Kurt left him, wanted to see what he said and wanted to remember what happened the night before. Except there was another little voice in the back of his head that told him that maybe he didn’t want to remember; that he wasn’t checking it for a reason.

            Blaine rolled over, looking at the clock on his nightstand and eyeing the green numbers warily. It was 4:30p.m. He had been lying around staring pointlessly at his blank ceiling for hours and he hadn’t even noticed. Blaine reached for his phone, slowly unlocking it and opening his voicemail. He was going to do this; he was going to man up and listen to this message and deal with whatever happened last night like a man. Because he was an adult, not a scared little boy and he was going to face up to what he had done.

            “It’s… It’s Kurt. I’m at a club on fifty-fourth street—fuck, it was a mistake to come—I… I’m alone. I’ve been alone. God, I can’t focus. There was this guy and he tried to… he tried to…” Blaine sat up, fingers clenching around the device. Someone did something to Kurt. Someone did something to him and Blaine wasn’t fucking there when he needed him. “And it just made me realize that… I need you, Blaine. And I—I love you. And I’m  _sorry_  for everything I’ve ever done, I’m so sorry.” Kurt sounded so broken as he cried; a heart wrenching sob choking its way out of his mouth. “I should call Rachel to p-pick me up but I-I… thank you.”

            And before he knew it, he was texting him. He had to make sure he was okay. Kurt didn’t say what this guy had done to him, but he had a pretty good idea.  ** _Kurt? Are you okay? I just heard my voicemail and you said something about a guy. What happened? Please tell me you’re okay and not laying in some alley somewhere. Please be okay._**  He didn’t know what he would do with himself if something happened to Kurt, he didn’t know how he would deal with it if it was his fault because he was wallowing in self-pity and didn’t want to pick up the fucking phone.

            Blaine let out a sigh, breath whistling through his teeth as his phone vibrated out its response.  **I’m alright. Sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to bother you.**  Was that what he thought it was? Did he think he was bothering Blaine by needing someone because he was potentially  _raped_  last night? What did that say about Blaine if he gave him the reason to feel like that was the case?

             ** _Kurt, you didn’t bother me at all. Are. You. Okay? You didn’t sound okay last night._**  He just needed to know, he needed to know that Kurt was still breathing and living the way he wanted to and not dealing with this all by himself.

             **You made me okay. You saved me.**  Blaine arched an eyebrow, staring at his phone.

             ** _What do you mean I saved you?_**  Because he hadn’t, he’d done the farthest thing from saving anybody.

             **You just appeared you woke me up and I got out of there before anything happened.**  Blaine blinked back the tears, casting his eyes to the ceiling once more and struggling to swallow around the pressure in his throat. Kurt was okay. But— _appeared_? His eyebrows drew together, lips pursing ever so slightly.

             ** _I appeared? Did he drug you? How high were you last night? Are you high now?_**  Had he been drugged? What had this guy used on him? Something flared up in Blaine’s chest; he was  _angry_.

             **I drank a little to help me sleep but I’m not sleeping now because you texted me.**  He was avoiding the question, he was lying and pushing it away and maybe that was better. Maybe it was better for him to try and ignore everything that had happened. The pang of anger was followed by the weight of guilt that pressed against his ribs. Kurt needed to sleep. He needed to have the time to himself and get over what he’d been through and Blaine was being selfish and keeping him living in the moment.

             ** _Should I let you sleep, then? God, I’m so sorry I’m such an idiot._** Blaine slid off his bed, scooping his sleeping pants off the carpet and pulling them on before wandering to the living room. Maybe he would start dinner; if Christian came home, he could surprise him. They both loved pasta.

            He filled a pot halfway before putting it on the stove and turning it on high, leaning against the island and staring at the water. His phone vibrated in his pocket, jolting him into reality as it was made louder against the counter.

             **Stop saying that stop fucking putting yourself down. Can’t you see that I think you’re perfect?**  His eyes blurred over again; he was getting really tired of crying all the time. Kurt  _did_  want him.

             ** _Kurt._**  He wanted to say more. He wanted to say so much more but he just didn’t know how. He wasn’t used to this; he wasn’t used to feeling like this again. He didn’t know what to do. The water was starting to boil.

             **You make everything better and you’re always there when I need you the most. Blaine, you saved me when nobody else could.** But he didn’t. He wasn’t there and he didn’t do anything but sit on his bedroom floor and quietly hate himself. He was so selfish. Kurt had saved himself, sure it was the image of Blaine, but it was still Kurt. He couldn’t take the blame for something he did to himself. But he was being stupid again. This was Kurt telling him that he wanted him, that he needed him. It was in a roundabout sort of way, but that was just the way that he functioned.

             ** _I’m so sorry I’ve been so stupid. I’m so, so sorry. I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. I thought you ran right back to your fiancé because you didn’t want me._**  And it was so true. He had been acting the way he was because he was positive that Kurt didn’t want him – that he didn’t need him. And, as it turned out, he was wrong. So wrong.

             **I’m done with Aaron. For good. I’m interested in someone else now.** The bottom fell out of Blaine’s stomach. Was he so naïve to really believe that this other person Kurt was interested in wasn’t him? Yes.

             ** _Oh._** Blaine clenched his teeth, working his jaw as he ripped open the little package of spaghetti. Kurt had come right out and told him that he needed him, and yet here he was believing that there was someone else. Someone else. Someone else that couldn’t be him because he was a horrible person.

             **Can we get together soon? I need to see you.**  Half of the pasta in his hand slipped, breaking as it struck the tile and skittering in all directions. He was  _fucking stupid_. It was him, of course it was him. He needed to learn to listen.

**I want to thank you in person.**

**_How about New Years? Can we do New Years?_** It would be perfect; they would see each other and it would be like a rerun of Christmas. They’d be  _together_. They could fix everything and it would all be okay.  _They_  would be okay.

             **Yes god yes.**  Blaine’s insides twisted as a grin broke across his face.

             ** _Where?_**

             **I can see if Rachel will throw another party?**  Blaine grimaced down at his phone before staring longingly at the broken noodles scattered around the kitchen. Dinner would have to wait.

             ** _No offence, but I don’t know if I want to try and handle Rachel._** Blaine could almost feel Kurt’s chuckle; he knew better than anyone the terrors of Rachel Berry.

             **Where did you have in mind?**  

             ** _We could go to the piano bar?_**  He didn’t think Christian was working tomorrow, giving a perfect opportunity to be able to sit down and actually talk without him hovering the way Blaine knew he would.

             **Okay. And then we can watch the ball drop together. Just like old times.** Blaine’s heart clenched painfully as his breath caught. He slid to the floor against the island, fighting to suck back air.  _Like old times_. They were really doing this. They were going back to the way things were; Kurt said it himself.

             ** _Just like old times. I’m looking forward to it._** And he was. It was so close and so  _right there_  that he was almost drowning in it.

             **Me too.**

             ** _And Kurt?_**

**Yes, Blaine?**

**_I love you so much and I’m so glad that you’re okay._**

**I love you, too.**

            Blaine let out a broken cry, gripping handfuls of his hair and rocking on the tile. Kurt loved him, Kurt wanted him,  _Kurt was okay_. The tears poured over and Blaine laughed. He was okay, they were okay, everything was  _okay_.

            Blaine had heaved himself up off the floor, throwing himself in bed and for the first time, crying himself to sleep in the best way possible.

            He didn’t wake up until 3p.m. the next afternoon and sleeping for a straight twenty-two hours was taking its toll. Blaine rolled off the bed with a groan, welcoming the thump of his body against the carpet. How he managed to stay in bed that long was anybody’s guess. And he really had to pee.  

            Christian was finally home for what must have been the first time all week (okay, that was a lie, it’d been three days or something, he wasn’t keeping track.) He looked absolutely exhausted, overnight bag hitting the shoe mat with a dull smack. There were heavy bags under his eyes and his hair was literally all over the place. It was not a look that suited him.

            “I can’t decide if you look like you had the night of your life or if you look like a corpse.” Blaine arched an eyebrow, before going back to poking at his bag of chips. Did it count as breakfast if he had dip with it?

            “Little bit of both.” Something was off, his voice broke at the end and he swallowed carefully, avoiding Blaine’s eyes.

            “Are you okay?” He wasn’t, he knew that much. But he also knew that Christian was going to wave his hand in Blaine’s direction, nod his head too enthusiastically, wince when he realized he had a headache and it was a bad idea, confirm in a tiny voice that ‘yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about it’, and go straight to his bedroom.

            Christian flicked his fingers at Blaine in a sort of half-wave and Blaine slid off his stool, starting toward his friend. “Blaine, I’m fine.” He almost sounded panicked as Blaine got closer, taking a slight step back with eyes that stayed firmly fixed to the hardwood between them.

            “Now we both know that’s bullshit. What happened? You literally look like you were eaten and shit out and it’s not a good look for your pretty face.” Christian’s mouth twitched, but other than that he remained stoic. “Tell me or I’ll tickle the hell out of you, and we both know how that’ll end.”

            Christian inched back ever-so-slightly, arms wrapping around his torso in a defensive stance. “I just witnessed something today that I really wish I didn’t have to.” There was more to it. There was so, so much more. He was never one to get overly emotional about people he didn’t know, even though he was totally the type for that. And if it were Rachel, he would look at Blaine. This was someone they both knew.

            “Who was it? Just spit it out.”

            “I can’t. I’m not supposed to say anything.” God, he was so quiet and he looked so nervous and  _scared_.

            “Christian, you’re pretty messed up about this, I think I deserve some insight here.”

            “Kurt had a panic attack in public because of some guy and I had to talk him down and I wasn’t supposed to tell you but it was so horrible, Blaine. I’ve never dealt with an attack before, not even with you; which is actually quite surprising, to be honest. But I didn’t know what to do, I just sat there and tried to make him breathe and he was just crying and screaming and I was so  _scared_.” Christian’s eyes met Blaine’s as he crumbled and started crying.

            And Blaine’s whole world caved in because he was supposed to be okay, he was supposed to be strong and be  _Kurt_. Maybe  _he_  needed to be the one to put  _Kurt_  back together. 


	21. You're My Downfall, You're My Muse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time we promised a not-angsty chapter and we are shitty, shitty liars, lemme tell you. We planned on making this a lot softer than it turned out, I swear. Or something. Anyways, now I can't decide if the contents of this make it more angsty or do, in fact, round it out a bit. I DON'T KNOW. Anyways, we took some suggestions and pushed it into this one, as promised. And, as is turns out, it worked a lot better than I exprected so thank you for that and feel free to keep suggesting things! Thank you all so much so far, and I hope you enjoy this! We sure did. This song is All of Me by John Legend.

_How many times do I have to tell you,_

_Even when you’re crying you’re beautiful, too?_

_The world is beating you down; I’m around through every mood._

**_You’re my downfall, you’re my muse_ ** _,_

_My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues._

_I can’t stop singing,_

_It’s ringing,_

_In my head for you._

            Blaine didn’t wake up until 2p.m. the next afternoon, too worked up the night before over what Christian told him about Kurt to be able to sleep. He rolled over on the mattress, sighing at the wall across the room. Christian was out  _again_ , though this time Blaine wasn’t so sure he was with Rachel. He had been pretty worked up, and the idea of him going straight back to easily the most insane person was hard to picture.

            He didn’t know what to do. Kurt needed him. Kurt needed him to look after him because he didn’t have anybody else. He was done with his so-called-fiancé, Rachel was too busy trying to be a star, no doubt; Santana never really was much help to begin with unless she was drunk. And who did that leave? Kurt never spoke about anybody else, although it was hard to believe that he lived four years in New York without meeting a single other person.

            So he wasn’t going to tell Kurt that Christian had told him what happened. Logically, he probably should bring it up, because it was a pretty big deal if Kurt of all people was freaking out  _in public_. And then he remembered that he had to see him that night and promptly fell off the bed.

            Outfit. He needed an outfit. He was going out to see Kurt tonight, with the purpose of maybe having a drink or too, and he needed to look at least a little bit put together, even if all the staff knew who he was anyway because this was  _Kurt_.

            He started freaking out.

 

            Blaine always forgot that he could bake. It was a stupid, actually, because that was all he seemed to do in high school. If he got stressed out, he would bake; if he forgot to do an essay, he would bake; if he didn’t know when his father was going to be home, he would bake. So, it was safe to say that Blaine was a stress-baker, which was exactly what he was doing.     

            His room was a complete mess; clothes thrown across the bed and in piles on the floor, drawers emptied, filled, and re-emptied, sheets shoved in the corner just to make more room even though making the bed probably would have been a much better idea in hindsight. He had been mulling over his clothes for two hours, bringing it around to four o’clock where he then gave up and proceeded to make four trays of cookies.

            And then he realized that he had no idea when they were going to meet at the bar. Blaine ran back to his room, bare feet sticking to the hardwood almost painfully, before tripping over a pile of clothes blocking his door and hitting the carpeting with a  _thump_  that he was sure the entire apartment building heard. He scrambled to grab his phone off the nightstand, flicking past the two missed calls from that persistent unknown number and opening his conversation with Kurt.

             ** _Hey, what time are we meeting?_**  He really hoped that Kurt had his phone with him because Blaine didn’t think he was going to be able to do much until he knew the exact time. He almost let out a cry of relief when his phone vibrated in his hands.

             **10:30?**  He made a noise of triumph. He didn’t need to rush. He didn’t need to panic and try and be ready for like... seven or something.

             ** _Sounds great. See you then._**

             **See you then.**  He really needed to find out what he was wearing and something was definitely burning.

 

            It was 9:45 and Blaine was going to start crying. He finally figured out his outfit (a rich navy half-button shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves and tight, dark jeans), an entire tray of cookies had caught on fire, and he  _still could not for the life of him find socks_. Blaine let out a shriek (honestly) of success when he managed to find a pair and even though they were light blue with weird hot pink swirls, he really couldn’t care less.

            He hopped around the house on one foot, struggling to pull on his socks and shoes at the same time. He was going to be late. He was going to miss that stupid,  _stupid_  train and Kurt was going to leave and he was going to fucking blow it again. The little carpet by the door slipped from under him and he hit the floor with a cry. He was going to have bruises.

            Blaine struggled with his coat as he slammed the door behind him, almost tripping  _again_  over the random bouquet of flowers just hanging out on his door step once more. Blaine glanced down the hallway just as the elevator doors dinged closed. He let out a pained noise, pushing the roses (the same) in the door with his foot, reaching for the keys he’d forgotten, locking the door, and running down the hall. He almost fell down the stairs.

 

            He missed the train. He missed the train, he missed the train, he missed the  _fucking_  train. There had been too many people. They were all flooding the staircase, going extra slow to attempt not to slip on the steps and he knew right at that moment that he was fucked. By the time he reached the bottom, the train was just leaving, doors closing behind the last person and starting on its way and oh man, he really was going to start crying.

 

            He got the next one, which came twenty minutes later, and he was the first person on. He’d shoved some poor old lady out of the way, hardly passing her an apology, and sitting right next to the door. Because for some reason, maybe if he rushed onto the train, it would leave sooner. Instead, he just got exceedingly more anxious as the people flooded on and he had to wait.

 

            He ran again, still being the asshole he knew he was and shoving people out of the way to be the first person off the train as well. Except that didn’t work when some beefy guy grabbed a hold of the front of his shirt and pressed him into one of the poles and all but  _snarled_  in Blaine’s face for him to wait his god damn turn. Apparently this was elementary school.

            When he finally got off, he almost tripped  _up_  the stairs (actually he did, but he caught himself with his hands so it didn’t count), nearly killed someone by accidentally  _almost_  knocking them down, and managed to rip the sole of his shoe right off the toe when it caught the edge of the step. It was 10:45 and he was officially, definitely late.

 

            He actually slipped in front of the bar, shoe sliding against the vent and barely catching himself on the brick wall with a yelp. He wrenched open the door and—Kurt. Kurt was reaching toward the handle, obviously very ready to leave as it was almost 11, and his eyes widened almost comically as he took in Blaine’s face and his heaving chest.

            “You came.” He seemed so surprised, so absolutely blown away that Blaine actually showed up, not that he didn’t have reason; Blaine was never really good at showing up on time.

            A slow grin pulled across Blaine’s face as he grabbed a hold on the doorframe mostly to keep himself standing upright as black splotches swarmed his vision from lack of oxygen and making a valiant attempt to appear nonchalant. Even though he just ran what felt like forever.

            “Yeah, I did.”

            Kurt exhaled slowly, finally dropping his arm and clearly trying to get a grip on himself. “I-I’m glad you did.” God, he looked so broken, but at the same time, he didn’t. He looked like... Kurt, but just a little more worn down.

            “Me too.” And he was; he was so, so glad. He took a step forward, eyes sweeping over Kurt’s body and finally,  _finally_  taking in his whole appearance. He wore skin-tight black jeans and a golden shirt that shimmered slightly in the dimmed lights, topped off with a scarf wound around his neck. He looked outstanding, as always. “You uh... you look good. Can we go get a drink or dance or something?” Blaine could have strangled himself. He could have just lain down on the scummy  _Welcome_  mat and gave up because he was such a stumbling idiot.

            Kurt’s cheeks flushed though, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and it was exactly something that he would do. He looked so shy and small and  _Kurt_. “Yes. That sounds great.”

            Blaine carefully reached out his hand, palm up in a silent offering and wiggling his fingers. He wasn’t sure if he really expected Kurt to take it, he didn’t know if he was pushing some new limits the other man had in place after what had happened the other day. But it was worth a shot, right? Kurt just stared at his hand, obviously worrying over whether or not it was worth it before finally taking hold. It was like a puzzle piece. They fit so perfectly together; the soft skin of Kurt’s palm sliding against his as their fingers interlocked and it was just so  _right_. Blaine gave him another little smile before making his way to the bar, gently tugging Kurt along behind him.

            “I—can I just get a non-alcoholic Shirley Temple, please?” Blaine cast him a look, eyebrows drawing together in what probably looked like confusion but was definitely meant to be understanding. He was purposely avoiding Blaine’s eyes, staring resolutely at the flat surface of the bar.

            The bartender gave Blaine a pointed look, quirking an eyebrow. “Just a plain lime daiquiri, please.” Kurt sat down awkwardly, obviously wrestling with the idea of letting go of Blaine’s hand and ultimately deciding against it. He looked like he was struggling with something, like he wanted to talk but he just didn’t know how and Blaine wasn’t going to blame him, he knew the feeling a lot better than anybody ever should.

            “How’ve you been?” It was so sudden and so out of nowhere and so much more confident than Blaine was expecting that he blinked, eyes widening in a way he hoped wasn’t noticeable.

            “Hm?” It was like he was doing a double-take on what he said and he almost slapped himself. “Oh, uh.”  _Blaine, get a grip you blubbering idiot._  “Good. Good. I’ve been good. You?” Yeah, because maybe if he said it three times it would make it more believable.

            “I’m good.... I’m good.” At least Blaine wasn’t the only one struggling to say the same word once. Kurt twisted on his stool, looking at the dance floor almost uncomfortably. He probably was uncomfortable. “Do you... you wouldn’t want to dance, would you?”

            Blaine almost choked on his drink. “I’d love to.”

 

            Kurt grabbed Blaine by the wrist, giving a coy little grin as he dragged him back to the bar. Blaine let out a laugh, stumbling after the other man and barely catching himself on the edge of the counter. Kurt had loosened up so much during their little dance thing that Blaine almost forgot how reserved he was before.

            “It’s eleven thirty-five,” Kurt stated matter-of-factly, pushing his phone back into his pocket. “We still have a bit until midnight.”

            “You always get so excited on New Years.” And it was so, so true. Kurt was one of those people that absolutely loved the end of the year. He wasn’t the biggest Christmas fan unless it was him getting the gifts (because it was usually things he couldn’t afford) but after the 25th, he just lit up. It was contagious.

            Kurt smiled up at him from where he’d sunken into his seat. “How could anyone  _not_  get excited about New Years? It’s saying goodbye to the mistakes of last year and welcoming the next. It’s like a fresh start.” And it definitely was, for them especially. This was going to be the start of something new. Something great.

            “You’re ridiculous.” Blaine grinned down at the bar top as he sunk into his seat as well before reaching his right arm across the surface to offer up his palm to Kurt. Holding hands just felt so good. Kurt reached to grab his hand and then froze. And Blaine was a fucking idiot. Kurt pulled up the edge of his sleeve, eyes following the movement in horror as he unveiled the criss-crosses tracked up the inside of his forearm.

            Blaine flinched back, hugging his arm against his chest and watching Kurt with wide eyes because this wasn’t supposed to happen. It was New Years and this was supposed to be left behind. “You weren’t supposed to see those,” he whispered, more to himself than to Kurt. He slid off his stool again as the emotions flickered over Kurt’s face and he got off his chair as well.

            Kurt took a step forward as he took one back. “Why would you do this? I thought... things were getting better.”

            Blaine forced himself to swallow, the fingers he had around his own wrist tightening. “They were. They were getting better and then they weren’t and I did some really stupid things and this was one of them.” He took another step back, biting his lower lip and pointedly looking anywhere but at the man in front of him.

            “That’s okay—it’s okay—I can make it all better—“

            “No, Kurt!” Blaine cut him off, looking back up into his face. “You can’t make it all better. Some things just don’t go away. You were a part of the problem this time; you  _left_  me there like I was nothing and ran back to that stupid guy and sure I know that you don’t care about him now but I didn’t know that then and it  _hurt me_ , Kurt. It hurt a lot.” Part of him knew he was being selfish. He knew that Kurt had problems too, but that definitely did not at all mean that what he did didn’t still hurt.

            “I told you that it was an  _emergency_. Aaron drove his fucking car into a semi-truck because of us! I  _ruined_  him and I ruined you and I’m sorry if you want my undivided attention, but you’re just going to have to wait in line behind all the other people I’ve ruined.”

            “I didn’t want your undivided attention for God sake, I wanted— _needed_  you to tell me that you still wanted me and that I wasn’t just... cold coffee!” Blaine choked on the words, blinking up at the ceiling to force back his tears. He would not cry. Things were supposed to be getting better.

            Kurt threw his hands up in the air and Blaine tried not to shy away from them. “How many times do I have to say it? I tracked you down to try and help you, I broke up with my fiancé so I could visit you in the hospital, I respected your space and left you alone for weeks when you asked me to, I took away your self-harm tools so you couldn’t hurt yourself, I waited at a coffee shop for four hours and I showed up tonight –after everything that’s happened to me- and you still don’t think  _I_  love  _you_?” he scoffed.

            “I have been trying to get better for you! Believe it or not I sacrificed a lot, too. Maybe you shouldn’t have tracked me down or took away _my_  things; my  _personal belongings_. Maybe you should never have even come and helped me up off the floor that night in the bar because then none of this would have happened. I stopped doing drugs for  _you_ , I tried so hard to stop self-harming  _over you_  and I did it, I managed. This time it was because of myself. God, I slept with  _Sebastian_  of all people just because I thought you didn’t want me.” He was going to cry. He shouldn’t have come. He should have just given up after the first train because now all of this was happening.

            “Sebastian? You slept with Sebastian? Sebastian Smythe?” Kurt was frozen there, staring at him blankly as he sank back into the bar stool slowly.

            Blaine ran a hand over his face, barely refraining from scraping his fingernails down over his cheek because  _fuck_. “You barely even gave me a second glance. You just leapt out of your chair and ran out the door and said something about the man I saw as your fiancé and you were gone.”

            “I said I was sorry. And I’m fucking tired of saying I’m sorry. While you were off sleeping with Sebastian I was—I—“ Kurt’s mouth snapped shut and he shook his head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re dating, we don’t have some stupid obligation to each other. Why’d you even show up tonight, huh? To make me feel even worse about myself? Because I’m pretty sure there’s no way to make me feel lower than I feel now.”

            “Fine. Just fine. If that’s the way I make you feel, take a look at me because I promise I’m not any better off.” Blaine ground his teeth, willing away the wetness blurring his vision. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. Next time, don’t try to play the night in shining armour if you don’t have a sword to slay the dragon.” He twisted away, pushing through the throngs of people and fighting to get to the exit as he finally let the tears fall. He ruined everything. Again. There was a group of people blocking the exit (something Christian would have shit himself over) and he just couldn’t get out.

            “H-hi. Hi, I’m Kurt Hummel and I’ll be singing a song for you tonight. This is dedicated to a very special person in my life.... He was my knight in shining armour when I was in high school and he still is today. He always will be. I hope... I just hope he knows that. Ahem.” No, no this couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t allowed to do that. He wasn’t allowed to tell Blaine he made him feel like shit and then jump up on stage and sing him a song. It wasn’t fair. Nevertheless, he froze at the door, fingers clasped around the bar and squeezing his eyes shut.

            “ _You think I’m pretty without any makeup on. You think I’m funny when I tell the punch line wrong. I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, down._ ” None of this was fair. None of it. Blaine chewed the inside of his cheek, tasting the metallic tang of his blood on the tip of his tongue as he soothed over it.

            “ _You brought me to life. Now every February, you’ll be my Valentine, Valentine. Let’s go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love. We can dance until we die; you and I will be young forever._ ” He wanted to walk out. He wanted to run right back to the subway and go home and forget that all of this happened. Forget the familiar voice chasing him through the bar. Except he couldn’t make himself move.

            “ _My heart stops when you look at me._ ” Blaine was sure that his had stopped too. “ _Just one touch, now baby I believe this is real, so take a chance and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back._ ” Don’t look back. Look forward. It was going to be a new year and that meant a new life. He didn’t have to look back. He didn’t have to run from the demons of his past; he could forget them at the door of 2017. At midnight.

            “ _I’mma get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight. Let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans be your teenage dream tonight._ ” Blaine turned back to where the DJ had been before and there was Kurt, standing under a single spotlight he’d probably turned on himself and looking right at Blaine. And as the last few notes faded out, Blaine couldn’t even see anymore around the tears flooding his eyes.

            “I love you.”

            Blaine brought a hand up to cover his mouth, trying to choke back the sob that burst from his lips because Kurt wanted him. He wanted him after all the shit they had put each other through and he  _loved_  him.

            “Get off the stage!” someone near the back shouted, but Blaine barely heard it over the pounding in his ears. Kurt cast a shy look around, almost throwing the mic back at the DJ and stumbling off the stage where he headed right for Blaine. The music picked up almost right where it left off and they were pushed into their own little world.

            “I had to stop you.” It was so quiet over the thump of not just the music but his own heartbeat. Kurt swiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “You really are my teenage dream.”

            Blaine threw himself at Kurt, falling against his chest and burying his face against Kurt’s neck because this was real. This was the way things were supposed to be. They weren’t supposed to fight and play a game of ‘who can make the other feel like the most shit’; they were in this together. They needed to play the game on the same team rather than against each other.

 

            They had curled up in an unoccupied booth, pushing into each other’s arms and just content to sit there and wait. Blaine had checked the time on his phone, sitting up slightly to point it out to Kurt.

            “Did you want to go watch the ball drop? We can walk.” Kurt had just nodded, passing him a smile and sliding off the bench with a hand outstretched.

            And now there were so many people. Time Square was packed, much more than usual, which was really saying something but honestly. It was New Years. It was expected. A lot of people were holding hands, just as they were; they were all laughing and happy and  _free_. Blaine grinned back at Kurt over his shoulder as he pulled them to a stop.

            “Ready for 2017?”

            Kurt looked down at him, eyes dancing with everything that Blaine missed; excitement, anticipation, playfulness,  _love_. Kurt sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, wetting it with his tongue in an action Blaine couldn’t help but follow. “I am if you are.”

            He bumped his hip against Kurt’s before looking up at the countdown screen. They had a minute left. “So ready.”

            “You know... you didn’t say that you loved me back.” It was so quiet that Blaine was almost sure he imagined it. Until he glanced over and saw that Kurt was very pointedly staring at the space between his feet.

            Blaine twisted back to face him, eyes widening slightly as he squeezed Kurt’s hand.  _45 seconds_. “I do. I do love you, too. I thought you’d gathered that.”

            Kurt gave a little sigh, the corners of him mouth twitching upward and it was a sound that Blaine didn’t even realize he missed. He had missed  _everything_ ; from the quiet, content little sighs, to the way Kurt loved to sing in the morning, to his knack for trying the cheesecake no matter where they went. He had missed it all and now it was here, right in front of him. Kurt’s cheek touched his shoulder, and even though it was a little bit of a stretch given their slight height difference, he didn’t seem to mind.

            “I wanted to make sure.”  _Twenty_.

            Blaine hummed in the back of his throat, pressed his cheek against Kurt’s ear. Everything just felt so  _right_. They were doing what they’d always wanted to do; the amount of times they talked about spending New Years in Time Square was definitely in the double digits somewhere. He pulled away slightly as the chorus of voices counting down around them grew louder.

             _Ten_.

            Kurt squeezed his hand.

             _Nine_.

            Blaine added his voice, grinning over at Kurt and squeezing his hand in return. “Eight.”

            There were so many people yelling with them and it was so so  _so_  close. Kurt turned to face Blaine, grabbing his other hand in excitement. “Seven.”

            Blaine laughed, eyes crinkling as he bounced on his toes.

             _Six_.

            Kurt leaned in and Blaine’s heart almost stopped. They were doing this. They were really doing this. The flashing lights from the nearby McDonald’s flickered across Kurt’s face, catching the greens and blues and enhancing them.

             _Five_.

            He was so close, they were so close. Everything was so close and he was sure he was going to drown in it all. He could feel Kurt’s breath against his cheek; warm and just so  _there_.

             _Four_.

            It was four seconds too long and all he wanted was to press the few inches between them into nothing. The way it used to be. He wanted to feel Kurt’s mouth on his, feel the long, slender, perfect fingers in his hair.

             _Three_.

            Blaine pressed their foreheads together, watching Kurt’s eyes carefully and moving his hands to rest at the other man’s waist.

             _Two_.

            He was so sure that he was going to start hyperventilating.

             _One_.

             _Zero._

            Blaine kissed him, fingers tugging at Kurt’s hips to seal their bodies together the way they used to. Everything was on fire. It was a lot like... fireworks. The noise exploded above them, colours raining through the sky. Kurt tasted the exact same way he used to; coffee, mint, wind, and  _home_. Kurt’s arms wrapped around Blaine’s neck, fingers slipping into the hair at the back of his neck and pressing their chests together, hips slotting perfectly and it all just felt so  _right_.

            Blaine’s hands slid to the small of Kurt’s back, pushing them somehow closer together. He tilted his head slightly, smiling against Kurt’s mouth as their noses bumped; they never were good at the alignment thing. Everything was perfect and nobody else mattered in the world because this was Kurt and Kurt  _loved_  him.

            They broke apart just enough to suck in a breath, breathing against each other’s mouths. They grinned. “Happy New Year,” Kurt whispered against his lips as he pressed in another chaste kiss.

            “Happy New Year,” he responded, returning the kiss before pulling back slightly. “Just like old times.”

            Kurt couldn’t seem to wash the smile off his face as he cast his eyes up to the sky above them. Confetti rained around them and the fireworks were still going and people were kissing all around them and it was just amazing.

            And then Kurt froze, pushing away from Blaine even more as he looked at all the people around them. His breathing picked up, chest heaving for air that was right in front of him and Blaine didn’t know what was happening.

            “Kurt? Kurt, are you okay?” Blaine’s fingers tightened in the material of Kurt’s jacket, ducking his head to try and meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

            Kurt didn’t answer, instead spinning away from Blaine and trying to push himself through the wall of people, shying away from those who brushed by him. Did he do something wrong? Did Kurt not want them to kiss? He didn’t understand.

            “Move—please, move—“ Blaine chased after him, apologizing to the people he carelessly shoved out of the way. His hands hovered nervously over Kurt’s shoulders, wondering if it was okay to touch. Was it? He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to fix it. Things were supposed to be better;  _they_ were supposed to be better.

            Kurt let out a pained noise from between his clenched teeth, doing a little jolting stumble away from someone who bumped into his side. He tripped, falling on his hands and knees on the wet pavement interspersed with mucky snow and Blaine followed him down.

            Kurt inched away. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, get away, oh God don’t,” he spat weakly, refusing to look at him.

            Blaine inched back. Christian. Christian said he had a panic attack. He had a panic attack and he didn’t know what to do. Kurt was panicking. He was panicking and  _Blaine_  didn’t know what to do.

             _Fuck_. 


	22. I Will Hold You Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO BAD AT UPDATING AO3 I'M SO SORRY  
> Essentially we were very bad people and waited to even plan all this out until the very last minute so we definitely stretched the posting time. BUT IT'S STILL SUNDAY WOO. Thank you all so much again for reading, and leaving reviews really really helps to push along our inspiration because it's nice to know what people think so that we can make it better and know what you'd like us to bring back. Anyways, this song is Beside You by Marianas Trench. Warnings for mentions of rape, mentions of dug abuse, and getting lost in a department store.

_When you’re overwhelmed and you’ve lost your breath,_

_And the space between the things you know is blurry nonetheless._

_When you try to speak but you make no sound,_

_And the words you want are out of reach but they’ve never been so loud._

_If your heart wears thin,_

**_I will hold you up._ **

 

            Blaine felt helpless. Kurt was holding the sides of his head, eyes squeezed shut as he rocked ever-so-slightly. He was shaking from his spot on the pavement, teeth gnashing together as he spat out, “Please, please just get me out of here.  _Please_.”

            Blaine’s fingers were twitching and he almost wanted someone to run by and step on them because then maybe he wouldn’t feel like he was being such a fucking idiot. “Hey, hey, you’re going to be okay. Can I touch you? Is it okay if I touch you?” Kurt inched back and if Blaine wasn’t paying special attention, he didn’t think he would have noticed it. But he did. “Hey, remember that time we got lost in a  _department store?_ You were freaking out. I was freaking out. It was so huge we couldn’t find the exit and we were both too proud to ask for help.”

            And then something broke. Kurt let out a broken noise, hitching at the end with a sort of half-cry half-laugh. “You always—you always remember the weirdest things.” He almost wanted to scream with relief; to jump up and down and shout that he was doing this, that he was  _trying_.

            Blaine reached a hand out slowly, trying not to scowl at his shaky offering and managed to pull his face into a soft smile. “You said that then, too, when I brought up getting lost in Wal-Mart with Cooper when I was three.”

            Kurt finally,  _finally_  looked up, sniffing loudly and carefully accepting the proffered grasp, thankfully not seeming to notice Blaine’s twitching. “What is it with you and getting lost in stores?” He brought up his free hand to wipe at his tears with his sleeve, dabbing at his eyes almost carefully.

            Blaine squeezed his fingers. “You’re going to ruin your coat if you keep doing that. You’ll regret it later,” he murmured quietly, smile widening. “It’s a quirk. I was meant to get lost in stores; it’s my birthright. Or something.”

            Kurt dropped his hand with a careful little chuckle and they started their way out of the crowd of people. Some were still watching, others scowling at the disturbance on what was supposed to be a perfect night or whatever delusion they had. “That’s one of the things I loved about you.” Kurt wouldn’t look at him; he was staring at his feet, very positive that they were far more interesting than anything the world had to offer. “Still love.” It was a sort of whisper that Blaine was almost positive he wasn’t supposed to hear. He felt like he was intruding on a personal moment that Kurt was having with himself.

            Blaine turned to him once they reached the sidewalk, fingers reaching out to tentatively brush the soft skin of Kurt’s wrist and pull him just that much further away from all the people. “Will you... will you come home with me?” Kurt sucked in a quick breath, eyes widening and Blaine would have stabbed himself right fucking there because  _dammit, not what he meant_. “I just—I mean—Not to like—“  _Spit it the fuck out._  “I want to look after you,” he breathed, dropping his eyes to the pavement between them and letting out the air he didn’t know he’d been holding onto. “Please let me look after you.”

            Kurt’s arms wrapped around his own torso as he shifted his weight slightly. “Can we go back to my apartment?” He almost looked like he hadn’t meant to say it, but he didn’t take it back. “It’s closer and I... I want to shower.”

            Blaine reached forward, fingertips resting on his shoulder carefully, worried if he pressed too hard that Kurt might just snap under his touch. He nodded, leaning slow enough that the other man could pull back if he really wanted to, and pressing a quick (but lingering all the same) kiss against Kurt’s forehead. “Where ever you want.”  

 

            How they managed to snag a taxi (well, Blaine did; Kurt just kind of held himself and rocked on his feet) was anybody’s guess. The twenty minute ride was actually almost exhausting. The cab was silent save for the constant blab of the foreign driver and Blaine almost wanted to figure out what it was exactly that he was saying; he was awfully enthusiastic. He could feel Kurt watching him, but every time he tried to catch his gaze, the older man was somehow staring out the window instead. It was frustrating, to say the least.

            Kurt was now fishing his extra key from under the mat outside his door (why he didn’t have his keys with him was beyond Blaine) and after finally getting the door open he stepped aside to let Blaine in first.

            “Mi casa es su casa,” Kurt said from behind him, sliding the door shut before removing his coat as he flicked on the lights; a skill Blaine really wished he had. Blaine’s eyes danced over the room, taking in the pile of blankets on the couch and the mugs left on the coffee table. Somehow it didn’t look like they were out of place. Kurt always managed to make everything work in his favour. “Make yourself at home.” 

            Blaine stepped out of his shoes, straightening them on the mat before slipping off his coat. "It's so... clean." His gaze roamed over the bare walls, hovering on spots that still held nails from removed pictures. All the frames that once held photos of him and Aaron were nowhere in sight; he really must have meant it when he said he didn’t want anything to do with his ex-fiancé.

            Kurt made a unidentifiable noise behind him, slipping past to scoop up one of the magazines Blaine didn’t even realize was there. “Oh, yeah. So clean.” It was so sarcastic and so definitely like Kurt that Blaine almost wanted to cry. And then he sort of hunched in on himself as he turned back around, fingers weaving together as he watched Blaine nervously. “Um, feel free to take a seat.”

            He couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have Kurt feeling awkward and scared around him. “Cleaner than mine, trust me.” A silence hung between them and Blaine passed him a small smile before sinking down on the couch. “Wanna watch a movie? We could watch a movie.” That was something they could do, they were good at watching movies. If you cut out when they were teenagers and a movie was an excuse to get dirty.

            And then Kurt grinned, smile stretching across his face. But it didn’t hit his eyes and if Blaine was someone else, he wouldn’t have noticed. But he did. Kurt shuffled over to his movie shelf, rifling through it with deft fingers momentarily before holding up a metallic red case that caught the light. It was a case he was all too familiar with. “Is  _Moulin Rouge_  okay? We used to watch it all the time while we were in high school. It’s kind of a pick-me-up movie for me.” Blaine wasn’t sure if Kurt was telling him or just reminding himself because there was no way in hell that Blaine would ever forget what that movie was to them.

            “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Blaine beamed at him as Kurt turned to slide it into the player. “Great minds think alike. Well, you’re the great mind, I’m just a follower.” Maybe he was indulging him just a little bit, anything to pull Kurt back to his feet. But there was a big chance he was telling the truth, Blaine was always the rasher of the two of them.

            Kurt ducked his head as he scurried to the couch, dropping down almost at the complete opposite end in a way that Blaine tried not to feel bad about. The opening cut off the noises and cheering from outside, which was a relief, and left them in their own little world.

            If he was being honest, this was still his favourite movie. He always loved Christian; he loved the way he held himself and how proud he was and how determined he was to get the girl. His soft spot for Ewan McGregor didn’t help. Neither did his unfathomable interest in typewriters.

 

            Somehow he knew that Kurt wasn’t paying attention. He knew by the flick of his eyes (a repeat of the taxi ride), the clench and rub of his fingers, the twitch of his socked toes where they were pulled up under him, and the shaking inhale-exhale that Blaine couldn’t help but count the seconds in between.

            And then Kurt shifted, scooting ever-closer across the cushions between them as he watched Blaine’s face for a sign of movement. He struggled to make it look like he wasn’t paying attention even though he was almost positive that Kurt knew he had amazing peripheral vision. Maybe just the illusion he didn’t notice was enough.

            He continued to inch his way over the distance of the couch, trying to be subtle but ultimately failing in a way only he could manage. One of Kurt’s hands twitched, like he was thinking about taking Blaine’s and half of him wanted to offer it up even though he knew that moving might send the other man back across the couch like a skittish cat. He held still, struggling to keep his eyes glued to the flickering television screen in front of him and really pay attention to what was being said.

            They were a foot apart and Kurt stopped moving. Blaine wanted to turn and tell him that it was okay, that he wasn’t going to shoo him away or get mad and that it was  _okay_  to touch and get close. And then he settled against Blaine’s side, pressing their shoulders and thighs together and relaxing almost immediately which in turn allowed Blaine to sink back against the couch.

            Kurt’s ear touched the top of Blaine’s shoulder before the rest of his head followed, falling into the younger man and  _trusting_. Blaine made a quiet noise in the back of his throat that he was almost sure came out in an embarrassing hum as he leaned his cheek against the top of Kurt’s head. And before he knew it, Kurt was asleep, snoring lightly, almost carefully against his shoulder. He deserved to sleep, he deserved to relax and rest and just exist for a little while.

            Blaine couldn’t help the smile that took over his face. Kurt was going to be okay.

 

 _“Kurt?” Blaine spun around, eyes trailing around the store._ Fuck _. They were supposed to stay together, dammit. Kurt had said as soon as they walked in that if they didn’t stick side-by-side that someone was going to get lost. And as it turned out, that’s exactly what happened. Not even two seconds ago his boyfriend was_ right behind him _and now he was nowhere to be seen and if Blaine was being honest with himself, he could almost feel the panic setting in. He sucked at being lost in stores._

 _He pulled out his phone, flicking to Kurt’s name with thumb hovering over the_ call _key before letting out a garbled noise of frustration because Kurt_ left his phone with Blaine _._ “I can’t hold onto it, I’ll lose it in my excitement. You know how I get around new clothes.” _He was going to be stuck here forever. He knew he could ask for help, he knew that he could just pull aside one of the workers and ask (_ beg _) for directions to the exit like the little baby he was. But he was too proud for that and somehow he knew that Kurt was, too._

 _What was he supposed to tell people if he ever got out?_ Ah yes, once upon a time I lost my boyfriend in Macy’s and cried and walked in circles all day, it was the manliest thing I’ve ever experienced in my whole entire life _. Yes because that wouldn’t involve years of torment from Cooper or anything._

 _So he wandered. He turned, heading (trying to) back toward where he had last definitely seen Kurt, calling his name all the while. How was this even possible? How did one even get lost in a store? In his defense, it was pretty fucking huge, but that still didn’t explain how a seventeen year old boy could get lost_ and _lose his boyfriend at the same time. In a_ department store _._

_A few of the employees gave him funny looks as he passed, some raising an eyebrow, some snickering quietly to themselves as if they knew that he was lost. Damn them._

 

 _At one point he almost started whining, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and sucking in a slow breath. He was going to complain that they needed to put up signs or something because this was getting ridiculous. There had been a few times when one of the workers asked him if he needed help looking for Kurt or if he needed directions to the exit and of course he just brushed them off with a little smile and said_ no thanks _while continuing on his hunt. What if Kurt was just following him around laughing his ass off like the absolute bitch he was?_

_It had been two hours without even a glimpse of coiffed chestnut hair and Blaine almost sank to the nasty, unhappy looking carpet and died. He was pretty sure if he tried hard enough he could think himself into dying in the middle of the store. That was possible, right? Probably not._

_And then he heard his name, the half-hysterical lilt of Kurt’s voice echoing over the clothing racks and Blaine straightened up so fast he was about ninety percent certain he pulled something in his neck._

_“Kurt?” he called out tentatively, not wanting to get his hopes up._

_“Blaine? Where the hell are you, you absolute fucking hobbit?” The fact that Kurt was swearing was both a good and a bad sign. Good because that meant that he was just as stressed out about this as Blaine, and bad because... well... it was never a good thing when Kurt swore. Unless they were in the bedroom but he couldn’t afford to think about that right now._

_“Keep talking, I’ll find you.”_

_“I’m going to kill you, I’m going to kill you._ I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You.Blaine. Anderson. _”_

 

            “Fuck, fuck, get off, don’t touch me!” Kurt’s scream pierced his ears and Blaine let out a yelp, slipping off the couch cushion and landing on the floor with a thump.

            “Ow, fuck!” He swore he only closed his eyes. He only closed his eyes for two seconds and now he was on the floor and  _how the hell did that even happen_? He must have fallen asleep, too. “Kurt! Kurt, are you okay?” He scrambled to get off the floor, fingers grasping at the edge of the coffee table.

            Kurt was struggling, throat working in a thick swallow as he stared resolutely at his lap and his twisting fingers. “I—yeah. Yeah. Just a nightmare. Sorry.” It was so quiet, so weak and scared and vulnerable that Blaine wanted to cry. Kurt was blinking down at his hands as if he was fighting back tears; he probably was.

            Blaine heaved himself off the floor with a grunt, rubbing his leg with a wince before sitting on the edge of the couch and turning to look at the other man. "Hey, look at me." He reached a careful hand between them, fingertips brushing the skin of Kurt's ankle.

            “I’m sorry,” he choked out as the tears pooling in his eyes finally spilled over. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Was that really what he thought this was? Did he really and truly believe that Blaine didn’t care if he was upset? That he didn’t care if he had a nightmare and needed someone? He guessed that most of that was his own fault, making the other man feel like he  _didn’t_  care for all that time that Kurt was trying to make him better.  _Fuck_.

            Blaine lifted a hand, thumb brushing away the tears he could catch before slipping his fingers around to press at the back of Kurt’s neck and pulling him closer, cradling his head against his chest with one arm and the other winding around the taller man’s waist.  _Come What May_  echoed through the room from the television behind them. " _Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything. Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you, until the end of time_." He tried so hard not to choke on the words but he was pretty sure that he was failing as he furiously blinked at the blurriness filling his vision. This was for Kurt, he wasn’t allowed to cry right now.

            “ _Come what may_ ,” Kurt returned softly, voice catching and breaking but still there all the same and powering through it. “ _Come what may. I will love you until my dying day._ ” The fingers that were pressed at the small of Blaine’s back tightened in the fabric of his shirt and Kurt’s face was tucked firmly under his chin. This was where he belonged.

            Blaine pressed his nose into Kurt’s hair, inhaling the familiar smell of mango and coconut and  _Kurt_. “ _Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace. Suddenly my life doesn’t seem such a waste, it all revolves around you._ ” It had always been true. Kurt had always been his personal little sun. The four years he went without him was like an eclipse of some sort, or like he was living in the arctic and it was his six months without sunlight. But now he was back, and sure he was a little beat up, maybe shining a little less brightly, but he was  _here_  and Blaine wasn’t in the dark anymore.

            “ _And there’s no mountain too high, no river too wide. Sing out this song and I’ll be there by your side. Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide._ ” Kurt was sitting up, grasping Blaine’s hands and squeezing his fingers carefully—strongly, and his face was so close their noses almost bumped and this was  _real_. “ _But I love you._ ”

            Blaine slid his nose along Kurt’s carefully. “ _I love you. Until the end of time._ ”

            “ _Until the end of time._ ” There was a silence that lasted maybe thirty seconds and they were both perfectly still, grasping each other’s hands and leaning their foreheads together as if they were the only people in the world. They were the only people that mattered. Blaine honestly wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. Not even two days ago he hated Kurt, he hated him for everything he’d done and for everything they’d been through except now he was here and he didn’t hate Kurt. No, he always loved him. He really needed to get his fucking mood swings under control.

            “Kurt?” The man in question twitched slightly and Blaine was pretty sure he wanted to tell him to shut up and just bask in the moment. “I really do love you, y’know.”

            Kurt exhaled, breath washing over his lips before he squeezed Blaine’s hands. “I love you, too. And I want to stay with you. God, I want to be with you forever.”

            He almost choked. He almost choked and fell right back off the couch because for some god awful reason he wasn’t prepared for that at all. Blaine pressed their mouths together briefly before sitting back just enough to look at Kurt comfortably. “I want the same thing. I always have.” Had he? Yes. Yes, he definitely had. Blaine dropped his eyes to their tangled hands, not sure if he was capable of looking Kurt in the eyes as he said what he had to next. “Do you—do you maybe want to talk about what happened the other night? Maybe getting it out will help.”

            And then Kurt was so far away that Blaine found himself blinking stupidly at the space where he had been not even moments before. He refused to look at him, gaze jerking around the room. “Don’t—Blaine, don’t.” Don’t what? Don’t care? Don’t try? Was he expected just to give up and not give a damn about whatever had happened the other day that fucked Kurt up so bad? Except he had to play this carefully.

            Blaine held up his hands, palms out and eyes wide. “Hey, hey. I’m not going to hurt you, Kurt. Nobody is ever going to hurt you.”

            Kurt still wouldn’t look at him. “Somebody already did.”

            “Please, please talk to me. I want to help you.” Blaine slowly lowered his hands, ducking to try and catch Kurt’s gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

            Kurt just shook his head. “You have enough problems of your own. You don’t need my sob story, too.”

            Blaine slid across the couch, touching the other man’s knee carefully. “I’m here because I want your problems, too. That’s what a relationship is. We share problems.” He was talking before he even realized what he was saying, except it was all true. He meant it all.

            “You won’t—I can’t—“ Kurt bit his lip, obviously struggling before letting out a resigned sigh. “P-promise you won’t do anything like go to the police or—or something, okay?”

            Blaine ground his teeth. Was it really that bad he had to promise not to call it in?  _Fucking hell_. He slid his hand over Kurt's leg, grasping his hand once more. "I promise." He already felt like he was lying through his teeth. But he could do this for Kurt; he  _would_  do this for Kurt.

            “I was at the club the other night and I met this... guy.” Kurt swallowed. “He seemed nice and he just kept buying me drinks and I accepted them like the fucking idiot I am and the next thing I knew... the next thing I knew....” His words broke off.  _No_. No that wasn’t fair. Someone took advantage of him. Someone took advantage of Kurt and part of Blaine died.

            Blaine inhaled slowly, scooting closer still and tightening his grasp on Kurt's fingers. “He—he did something to you, didn’t he? That’s why you called me. You went on and on about some guy and how he did something and I didn’t know what.” Even though he already knew, at least had a very vivid idea, he still had to  _know_.

            Kurt nodded, short, jerky little movements. “He drugged me. He drugged me and he dragged me to some spare room and he tried to—“  _No._  “I couldn’t move or think and he just—“ He started shaking, blinking quickly as he tried to stifle back even more tears. “Don’t make me say it,” he whispered. “Please, don’t make me say it.”

            "Honey, breathe." Blaine struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat. To think of someone doing that to Kurt ( _his_  Kurt) made him want to both throw up and hit something at the same time because that wasn't fair. Kurt didn't deserve that, nobody did. "Don't. You don't have to say it. It's okay. You're okay."

            Except Kurt was pulling away, stumbling off the couch and moving as far from Blaine as he could as he hugged his arms back around his torso and stared directly at the floor. “I’m—I have to go to the bathroom.” He hurried off down the hall, never even sparing Blaine a glance.

            He wanted to find this stupid idiot and he wanted to kill him, screw going to jail. This guy  _hurt_  him and that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to do something like that to someone when they didn’t want it,  _it wasn’t fair_. Blaine got up from the couch, pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table; Satine and Christian’s voices still echoed through the room. Sometimes he wished his life was like a movie because then he would get a script. He would have certain guidelines to follow in order to get his happy ending and he wouldn’t do something stupid to mess that up.

            Blaine paused in the middle of the room, eyes landing on the T.V. where Satine was dying, Christian crying and holding her and  _needing_  her. He was fairly certain he needed Kurt like that. Blaine jumped when Kurt’s phone vibrated on the table and he twisted around to pick it up. He knew he shouldn’t be snooping but taking a look at who it was from couldn’t hurt, right? Besides, if it was Burt or something (even though he was known to call as he without a doubt still didn’t know how to text) he would start freaking out if Kurt didn’t answer right away.

            It was an unknown number. Blaine’s eyebrows drew together as he swiped his finger across the screen, opening the message.

             _if you tell anyone what happened ill kill you_

Without even hesitating, Blaine took out his own phone, quickly putting the number into his contacts (under the name of  _Fucking Douchebag_ but who was going to check) and deleting the text from Kurt’s so that he wouldn’t have to find it. He didn’t need anything else from this asshole.

            Blaine set Kurt’s phone back on the table in what he assumed was the exact place he picked it up from before putting his own away. Kurt was still in the bathroom, he wasn’t one to take forever.

            He wandered down the hall, wincing at every creak the floor made even though he wasn’t trying to sneak up on him. Everything just felt better if it was done quietly. Blaine paused outside the door, listening quietly and once he heard a quiet sniff from the other side he rapped his knuckles softly against the wood.

            There was a slight shuffle. “C-Come in.” He sounded so broken and scared that Blaine didn’t regret hiding that text from him at all in that moment. He slowly pushed open the door, slinking inside before shutting it carefully behind him. Kurt was curled up across from the sink, strip of toilet paper crumpled in his hand as he watched Blaine quietly.

            “I’d ask if you’re okay, but that’s a pretty dumb question, isn’t it?”

            Kurt just gave a sort of weak shrug. “I’m sorry I dumped all of that on you. It’s my problem and I shouldn’t have bothered you with that.”

            Blaine dropped into a crouch beside him before falling back on his ass with a little noise and crossing his legs. “Kurt, if I didn’t want it dumped on me, I honestly wouldn’t have asked. I’m here for a reason— _still_  here, even after you told me. I’m not going anywhere.” He definitely wasn’t. If anything, he would glue himself to Kurt’s side to make sure nobody hurt him ever again.

            “How could you still want me? I’m... ruined.” Kurt tucked his head between his knees, giving another little sniffle.

            “You’re not ruined. Maybe you’re a little frayed at the edges, but I’m quite a bit torn up myself, don’t you think? I want you for what you’ve been through because if you don’t go through hard times then you don’t have character, and you, Kurt Hummel, have a shit ton of character.”

            Kurt gave a little chuckle before sitting up and resting his eyes on Blaine for what really felt like the first time all night. “You’re perfectly imperfect.” He reached out, fingertips touching Blaine’s forearm. “You’re so amazing in every way and I don’t know what I did to deserve such an incredible man like you.” 

            Blaine leaned forward, resting his chin on Kurt’s knee and grinning dopily up at him. “I ask myself the same thing. And then I remember that you went through hell to fix me and it took me a total of five years to get my head out of my ass.”

            And then Kurt was kissing him, lips moulding together perfectly. Blaine sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, mouths seeming to open at the same time as they re-explored each other. When Kurt pulled away, he was smiling. “You always were the slower one.” A hand slid around the back of Blaine’s neck, fingers combing through the curls there and Blaine couldn’t help but let out a little hum. “So... what is this?” Kurt motioned with his other hand, gesturing to the both of them. “I mean—us. What are we?”

            Blaine swatted at Kurt’s ankle weakly. “Rude.” He tilted his head slightly, watching Kurt’s eyes carefully. “I’d like us....” He paused, making a face. “Kurt Hummel, would you do me the incredible honour of being my  _boyfriend_  again?”

            Kurt brought a hand up to tap at his chin, eyes flicking to the ceiling. “I’m not sure, Blaine Anderson, I may have to get back to you on that.” Their eyes met again and Kurt’s arms were suddenly around his neck, almost knocking him to the floor as he nudged their noses together. “Of course, you dork. Of course.”

            And it was like another little piece of forever fell into place.


	23. You Are Everything I Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! Thank you for the suggestions that have been dropped off, we've taken them all into account and I'm sure they'll be incorporated eventually. I love that you guys even have suggestions, it means so much to both myself and my co-author. From now on I'm going to give a shout-out to those who give suggestions if they're in the chapter because I really feel like recognition is deserved for your awesomeness. So, while I was writing, I accidentally quoted Legally Blonde the Musical (I'm doing it in Musical Theatre, it's like a plague), so there's that in there somewhere. If you can find it, you get a pat on the back. This song is Pocket Full of Dreams by Hedley. Warnings for mentions of rape/drug abuse/self-harm, and hating on bowties.

_They say great things come if you wait,_

_But I won’t wait for anything but you._

_Free falls and alcohol, I’ve paid my dues._

_Now I can’t get high on anything but you._

 

_A cardboard box of make-believe,_

_Empty pockets full of dreams,_

_And **you are everything I need**._

 

            They’d texted for what must have been a week, calling every night; Blaine lost count of the days after the first three. And now he missed Kurt more than he thought was actually possible.

            Blaine groaned, the noise loud and uninhibited as it echoed through the living room. He set his phone on his knee as he curled his legs under himself, staring at it as if it might light up the second he sat down. It didn’t. He tried to tell himself that Kurt was probably sleeping or something, he’d a habit of just randomly falling asleep as of recently and if Blaine didn’t know that it was  _Kurt_ , he would probably force him to go to the hospital and get it checked out because there was no way it could be healthy.

            Except it  _was_  Kurt and Blaine knew that he had a problem with overworking himself and usually passed out at random intervals anyways. Or maybe he just got bored of talking to him. Blaine’s face fell and he glared at the coffee table. He was being stupid again. Not like that was new, though.

            The front door opened and Blaine snapped his head up to look; maybe Kurt came to surprise visit. He tried not to look too put out when it was Christian who came through the door.

            “Hey.” His flatmate sounded distracted, dropping his bag on top of his shoes and going straight to the little kitchenette to raid whatever was in the fridge. Which was admittedly not much because Blaine hadn’t gone out to get anything yet.

            “Hey,” he replied, dragging himself back off the couch and setting his phone on the coffee table with finality.  He could ignore it for awhile; he could. Maybe.

            “Why don’t we have any food?” Christian was leaning almost completely inside the fridge, holding himself up just by the top of the door while his other hand pawed over the shelves.

            Blaine gave a sheepish little smile when his friend turned around, fixing him with a raised eyebrow and a slight frown that turned the corners of his mouth. “Sorry?”

            Christian groaned, letting his forehead bang into the bottom edge of the freezer with a barely contained wince. “You were supposed to go get groceries.”

            “I was... busy?” he offered weakly, wringing his fingers together in front of him and trying very hard not to look toward the coffee table. Christian just fixed him with a look, cocking an eyebrow and slowly taking in his posture.

            “You were busy waiting for Kurt to answer you, weren’t you? And by the look on your face right now, I’m going to say the answer is yes and that he still hasn’t responded.”

            Blaine sighed, deflating and leaning against the island. “How come you always have to be right?”

            Christian gave him a proud little grin, tilting his chin up as he finally straightened. “I don’t have to be; with you I just am.” Blaine stuck his tongue out. “So, do you want to go shopping with me, now? We always make a list but whenever I come back with what’s on it, you complain that you had more ideas. I think it’ll be a lot more productive if we both just go, that way you can’t complain if we forget something because it’ll be your fault and not mine.” Blaine pushed out his lower lip, casting a longing glance back toward where his phone sat. “Blaine, the point of a mobile phone is that it’s  _mobile_.”

            Blaine straightened almost immediately, not knowing how he’d  _forgot_  that his phone wasn’t attached to the house. “I have to pick out an outfit.”

            “We’re going shopping, not clubbing.” Christian rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh because he knew how long Blaine took to get ready.

            “Every moment is an opportunity, Christian.” And with that, he took off down the hallway.

 

            “Blaine, it’s been almost half an hour, what in God’s name are you doing in there?” Christian appeared in the doorway and Blaine froze, at least five bowties hanging off his fingers. “No.”

            Blaine opened his mouth before closing it again, pouting down at his hands. “I can’t choose.”

            “You do not need a bowtie to go shopping, put them back.” He took a step into the room and Blaine took one back. “Blaine.”

            “Yes I do. You don’t understand, they need me.” Christian strode across the space between them, holding out a hand palm up and flicking his fingers.

            “Hand them over.”

            “I can’t, they’re my children.”

            “Give me the bowties.”

            “They  _need_  me.”

            “I am going to tickle the life out of you if you don’t give me the stupid bowties.”

            “They’re not  _stupid_!”

 

            Their shopping trip had finally been completed. Once they actually managed to leave the house (not without Christian pinning Blaine to the floor and tickling him until he couldn’t breathe) everything went by quickly and efficiently. Now Blaine was sitting in the subway, staring at the dark screen of his phone. He unlocked it almost carefully, pulling up his contacts and scrolling down to the  _F_ s where he hovered over the number he had put in just over a week ago.

            He hit call. It rang three times before being answered and Blaine’s entire chest seized.

            “ _Hello?_ ” He wanted to both throw his phone across the platform and give this guy a piece of his mind. Blaine drew in a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut and just waiting. “ _Anyone there?_ ” God, even the sound of this guy’s voice made his stomach knot up.

            Blaine pressed his fingers over the bridge of his nose, pinching for good measure as he tried to stifle down his anger. This guy deserved it. He opened his mouth, ready to tear a strip off the other man and then the dial tone ran over the line. He had hung up. Blaine supposed it was a good thing, he didn’t think that getting arrested for threatening bodily harm would be good for his and Kurt’s relationship right now.

            He slowly put his phone back in his pocket, rubbing his now sweating palms over the tops of his thighs and getting up off the bench.

 

            And that was how he found himself in the gym. He had gone home after shopping, changing into something a lot more comfortable as the stifling weight of what this guy did to Kurt had almost drowned him.

            Blaine hit the bag in front of him again, barely containing the noise that threatened to force its way out of his throat when it swung back toward him, no matter how slight the movement. He didn’t even know what he looked like; didn’t even have a face to visualize onto the bag. But he had a voice and a phone number and that was good enough.

            Blaine shuffled his feet, gloved hands in front of his face as he bounced ever-so-slightly. It’d been so long since he’d boxed, probably around five or six years. And now that he was here, he remembered why he started it in the first place. It was an outlet; a much better outlet than self-harm had ever proved to be. At least for him, anyways. It was better than drugs, and alcohol, and blood running down his arm and reminding him he was alive.

            This was so, so much better. He could feel his heartbeat in his head, feel the way the mat shifted under his weight as he moved. He could feel the muscles in his arms and legs and he could see with incredible clarity; the way the fibres of the vinyl were tore up in places, the way the artificial light bounced off the stark white walls. He felt so  _alive_  in that moment that nothing else mattered.

            It didn’t matter that Kurt had almost been  _raped_  after being drugged by a complete stranger. It didn’t matter that his father hated him. It didn’t matter that Cooper still hadn’t called since the hospital incident, even if he promised that he would. It didn’t matter that a lot of things were still broken because every time his fist collided with the punching bag, it was as if they were fixing themselves. It felt good not to have any responsibilities.  

 

_“I didn’t know you boxed.” Kurt was standing at the doorway to the weight room, leaning against the doorframe with a cocked eyebrow and crossed arms. His eyes raked over Blaine’s body shamelessly._

_Blaine paused, slowing down his bouncing gradually until he stilled. “I didn’t think that it mattered.” He knew that he was probably snapping, but he was wound up and_ pissed off _and Kurt was interrupting his coping time._

 _“It doesn’t. Not really. I just didn’t think that you were one for violence.” He knew Kurt was kidding, he_ knew _that he didn’t mean any harm._

_“Yeah well, the more you fucking know.” He gave a sort of sweeping motion with his right hand, curving it in an arc that he hoped represented a shooting star before turning back to the bag and taking up his stance again._

_“Hey, I’m not attacking you or anything.” He could hear Kurt’s voice getting closer and he wanted to run away. He wanted to run away and scream and cry because he just wanted to be_ alone _._

_“Go away.” He was going to regret being an asshole later; he was going to regret treating Kurt like shit. But right now, he couldn’t care less._

_“Blaine.” One of Kurt’s hands touched his shoulder and Blaine whipped around, glaring at his boyfriend._

_“I said fuck off.” The hurt that passed over Kurt’s face was so prominent Blaine almost wished he could take it back. He didn’t. Kurt’s fingers slowly dropped and he looked down at Blaine so openly, so vulnerably and sincerely that he started crying._

_Blaine sagged to the floor, hands clasped over the sides of his head as he rocked back and forth, sobbing into his knees because this wasn’t fair; nothing was ever fair. He wasn’t fair to Kurt, he wasn’t fair to his friends, his father wasn’t fair to him; everything was against him and it_ sucked _._

_Kurt’s fingers touched his wrists, slowly pulling his arms down and bracketing Blaine’s face with his hands. “Honey, breathe.” He sucked in a gasping breath, whimpering and shaking from his spot on the floor as he struggled to focus on his boyfriend’s words. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is okay in the end and if it’s not okay, it isn’t the end.”_

 

            The ringing of his phone jolted him out of his memories and he moved to grab it off his pile of sweater. Unknown number. As long as it wasn’t Kurt, he didn’t care. 

 

            “Who keeps sending the flowers?” Christian called from the kitchen, peeking around the corner to watch Blaine as he shut the door and took off his shoes.

            “There are more? I thought it was just Kurt sending them, but if they’re still coming than I have no idea.” Christian narrowed his eyes before ducking back toward what must have been the stove. Blaine moved around the partition separating the front door from the kitchenette and sure enough, resting on top of the island was another vase of roses. Still the same colour.

            “You probably have some secret admirer,” his roommate snickered, back turned to Blaine as he stirred whatever he was cooking. Probably pasta; Christian had some sort of weird attachment to fettuccini recently.

            “Highly unlikely but the faith you have in me is astounding.” Blaine rolled his eyes, sinking down in one of the island stools. “So, how are things with you and Rachel?” Christian was just about to answer when there was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it; don’t think that you’re getting out of this question that easily. I want to know all about Ms. High-Maintenance.” Blaine slipped back off his seat, padding his way to the door and unlocking the deadbolt.

            “Mom?”


	24. I Just Need You Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this chapter so it's really short; I've got a shit ton of stress downright murdering me so I apologize for this trainwreck of a chapter. This song is Need You Now by Lady Antebellum.

   _It’s a quarter after one, I’m all alone and I need you now._

_And I said I wouldn’t call but I’m a little drunk and I need you now._

_And I don’t know how I can do without._

**_I just need you now_** _._

            She stood there watching him almost carefully, a little smile pulled across her face that was so much like his own as she wrung her fingers in the exact same way he did when he was nervous. This couldn’t be happening. He was finally starting to get his life back together and she was ruining it.

            “W-what are you doing here?” He wanted to stab himself for stuttering; he wanted to cut out his tongue and pull out his hair and shoot himself in the foot because this wasn’t fair.

            “I came to see you. I missed you.” She took a step forward and oh God, he was going to throw up. He took one back and her face fell. He couldn’t deal with this. She  _left_  him, she just walked out and left him all by himself and now she was coming back just assuming he was going to welcome her with open arms.

            “You shouldn’t be here. You’re the one who left me behind; you don’t get to just show up unannounced and expect me to be happy about it.” He took another step.

            She made a face, probably the same face that he made when he was confused. “It wasn’t unannounced. I called you and you never answered, I left flowers three times a week apologizing.”

            Everything slowly settled into place; the flowers, the unknown and persistent number. This wasn’t happening.

 

             _Sometimes he waited for her to come back. He would sit on the very bottom step of the staircase and just watch the door, expecting her to throw it open and reappear with her suitcase and a broad smile and scoop him up into her arms. She never came._

 _His father would come home and start yelling, calling him names that Blaine didn’t even understand and sending him up to his room after he started crying, calling him a ‘_ stupid fucking baby _’._

_So Blaine would sit on his bed and cuddle with the stuffed llama his mom got him from the fair that one year that, if he tried hard enough, smelled just a little bit like her. Tomorrow he would try again, like always._

“I’ve missed you so much, you’re so handsome now. You’re not my cute little baby anymore.” It was too much, too much,  _too much_. Blaine stumbled back, one hand grasping the partition that separated the door from the kitchen. Christian was behind him, one hand squeezing his shoulder as he steadied Blaine with another on his waist. She was just coming into his house; just  _walking_  in as if he had welcomed her. He hadn’t.

            She looked almost the same as she did when he was seven, if a little more worn. Her skin was still the exact same shade, her black curly hair fell around her face and shoulders the same way he remembered it. Her shoulders were a little more slumped and there were more creases in her face and there was a stubborn streak of grey that just didn’t want to disappear from her hair and she might have even been a little thinner but she looked the  _same_.

            “Is that your boyfriend?” Kylie gave him that stupid hopeful smile as her eyes flickered between the two of them. Blaine opened his mouth—

            “I think you should leave.” And they weren’t his words, they were Christian’s. When Blaine glanced up, his roommate was watching the woman in the doorway warily, gaze raking over her body critically as his fingers tightened on Blaine.

            Kylie frowned, eyebrows scrunching together in a perfect mirror of himself. “I’m his mother and you, boyfriend or not, don’t get to kick me out.”

            “Please get out of our house.” Christian slipped away from him and Blaine wanted to cry out for him to come back because he didn’t think he could stand by himself right now. But his friend just nudged him back carefully until his knees hit the edge of a barstool before turning back around and striding toward the door.

            “No.”

            Blaine didn’t even remember passing out.

 

             _Kurt was watching him from the other side of the blanket, eyes roaming over Blaine’s face and body as he drank in his slumped posture. “What’s wrong with you?” It was a quip, that was for sure, but there was something about the softness in his face and the set of his mouth that reminded Blaine that he was being sincere._

 _“Just thinking about my mom. Sometimes I wonder if she’ll come back, if I even_ want _her to come back.” Blaine stared at his lap, fingers picking at the edge of their cliché checkered picnic blanket in a way he knew Kurt was going to chastise him for._

_But Kurt’s eyes just softened, a small, understanding smile twitching the corner of his mouth. He reached over the space between them, grasping Blaine’s hand that was fiddling with the cloth and pulling it into his lap where he started to work his fingers over Blaine’s palm. “Sometimes I think about that, too. I think about what my life might have been like if she hadn’t died and it would probably be a lot different,” he paused, eyes rising to meet Blaine’s. “I don’t know if I ever would have met you. She would have told me to be strong and helped me get through everything and I bet I never would have made that trip to Dalton. I don’t ever wish that she were gone, I just think about how much I might lose if she weren’t.” Kurt was just so open, so sincere and vulnerable that Blaine wanted to cry._

_What might his life have been like if his mother stayed? Would he have met Kurt? It was because of her leaving that he made his goals to protect people and make sure they were safe. Would he have tried that with Kurt? Blaine made a face down at their little lunch; probably not._

“Blaine?” There was something cold on his forehead and he was definitely lying down. Someone kept saying his name and he couldn’t place the voice. It rattled through his head, bounced around between his ears and the name sat right on the tip of his tongue but he still couldn’t taste it.

            A warm hand was anchored on his hip and Blaine’s eyes fluttered open. Christian was sitting beside him on what must have been the kitchen floor, fingers petting weakly against his shirt as the other hand held a washcloth over his forehead.

            “What happened?” He sounded like shit; his voice cracked awkwardly and the sound of it in his own mind made a headache he didn’t know he had, throb.

            “You passed out. I sat you on the bar stool and you literally fell off of it and whacked your head. You mother freaked out and tried to rush in and I actually had to threaten to call the police before she left. She said she’d come back.” Right, his mom.

 

            Blaine slumped against the island. It was 1:05am, Christian was asleep, his mother never came back although he didn’t doubt that she would; she was annoyingly persistent, and his neck hurt too much to be able to lie down comfortably.

            He felt like he was missing something, like there was something he was supposed to do and he forgot but it was just sitting right there waiting for him. Blaine slid off the stool, making his way to the fridge and fishing out one of the beer bottles. If he was going to wallow in his own self-pity, he was going to make the most of it.

 

            “ _Heyyyy, Kurt. Hey. It’s Blaine, wow my name sounds funny. Did you know it sounded funny? Your name doesn’t sound funny, it’s just like... Kurt. Whatever, anyways, I just wanted to tell you how amazing you are and I’m not drunk at all just a little tiny bit tipsy, probably, I don’t know._

“ _You’re just_ the best _; you’re so strong all the time and you look after people and you look after me even if I’m kind of always an asshole. My mom showed up today and I don’t know what she wants from me. She looks almost the same as when she left and I just don’t know what she_ wants _._

“ _I wish you were here; you’re so smart and you’d know what to do. You always know what to do. I looooooooooove you, Kurt. I love you soo much and I just want to tell you that all the time._ ” 


	25. I'm A Tiny Penny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back and kicking! Wow, twenty-five chapters! Also, to clear up confusion, the end of the last chapter was indeed a drunk dial and not a flashback, I realized after that there would probably be confusion. I said I'd hopefully be back on track and here I am. This one is a lot better than the last, I honestly have no idea what even happened with that, it was so bad and for that you have my apologies. Thank you for sticking with me through it and this is going to go back where it's supposed to be. This song is Back to Black by Amy Winehouse.

_We only said goodbye with words,_

_I died a hundred times._

_You go back to her,_

_And I go back to,_

_I go back to us._

_I love you so much,_

_It’s not enough._

_You love blow and I love puff,_

_And life is like a pipe,_

_And **I’m a tiny penny**  rolling up the walls inside._

 

            She came back, of course she did. He was an idiot if he ever expected that she wouldn’t. What he didn’t expect was the massive fucking headache that had him almost permanently bed-bound. He didn’t expect Christian to wake him up at nine in the morning to tell him that his mother had indeed come back. He also didn’t expect to walk out to the kitchen and find beer bottles scattered over the island.

            Blaine turned to his roommate, one hand shielding his eyes against the morning light that fought its way through the living room blinds, and quirked an eyebrow. Christian just shrugged and gave him a pointed look, the corner of his mouth twitching.

            “Why are you looking at me like that? You’re the one who drank himself silly.” He sounded so nonchalant as he brushed past Blaine’s shoulder and began gathering up the dark and abandoned bottles. The shorter man let out a pained noise as he continued to observe his friend because he  _didn’t remember_. He didn’t remember drinking last night. He remembered staying up late watching shitty reality television and playing dumb games on his phone but he didn’t remember emptying all the alcohol from their fridge.

            Blaine was usually good about remembering what he did when he drank; he never had a problem with memories before so why should that start now? He was just about to speak when the doorbell rang (for what definitely wasn’t the first time if the way it went off several times was any indication) and his entire head felt like a bell.

            “She’s been doing that for about ten minutes now, I don’t think she has the intent of going away,” Christian murmured as he half-waddled his way to the little closet they used for the recycling bin, arms packed full of bottles that Blaine hadn’t even thought about helping him with until that moment.

            Blaine slowly made his way to the door, panic spiking in his stomach because he didn’t think he was ready for this. He had a hangover he didn’t remember giving himself, his mouth tasted like sandpaper and regret, his hair was more likely than not all over the place, he was dragging himself around in a pair of too-big sweats and an oversized blue Dalton hoodie that made him look a lot thinner than he knew he was. Maybe (hopefully) he could scare her away.

            He slowly pulled open the door just enough to see into the hallway and sure enough, his mother was standing on their shitty  _Welcome_  mat tapping her too-yellow heel with a cup of coffee in each hand and a look in her eyes that could surely kill a man. Blaine almost wished it would.

            “Took you long enough,” she snapped ( _snapped_ ), shouldering the door open with enough force that Blaine had to stumble to catch his balance. This was going to be a  _wonderful_  day. She strode straight to the island where she set (slammed was a better word) the cardboard cups down and turned to give him a glare that held knives. Good, she was mad at him. Maybe that would make this all a lot easier.

            And then her gaze softened and she smiled sadly at him and  _fuck_ , he psyched himself out. She took in his posture for what must have been the first time. Squinted eyes against the light huddled in his stupid, oversized clothing with hair that vaguely resembled Medusa.  _Shit_. Christian had just mysteriously disappeared which Blaine was probably going to have to kill him for because he didn’t think that he could handle her by himself. Right now, or ever.

            “How are you?” God, she sounded so sincere and so careful and  _caring_  that he almost believed her for a second. And then he remembered that she left him by himself with his father when he was  _seven_  and everything came crashing down again.

            “Fine,” he grumbled, circling to stand with his back to the hallway. “Why are you here?”

            “I told you, I missed you. I wanted to see my little boy.” This wasn’t happening, this wasn’t happening,  _this wasn’t happening_. She wasn’t allowed to do this. She wasn’t allowed to walk into  _his_  house and claim that she missed him and expect him to throw himself into her arms and cry that he missed her too. Because that wasn’t fair. No matter how much part of him wanted to.

            Blaine swallowed, choking back the bile that was rising in the back of his throat. “You lost that privilege when you left.” He wound his arms around himself, hoping that maybe if he made himself small enough, he could disappear. He dropped his eyes to the floor, gaze fixed firmly on where the hardwood met the tile of the kitchenette. They had such a stupid, weird floor.

            “Blaine—“

            “Don’t. Please, don’t.” He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t because if he did that would mean he was giving in. He couldn’t give her what she wanted.

            Kylie went silent and Blaine could almost feel the way she pursed her lips and the way her eyebrows meshed together. “I’m your mother.”

            Blaine inhaled shakily, hands that didn’t reach the ends of his sleeves curling into fists with nails that bit into his palms as he desperately fought back tears. “My mother, not my mom.” He forced his gaze up to her face, blinking furiously as he chewed the inside of his lip because he  _would not cry_.

            Eyes that were almost a perfect mirror of his own narrowed as she fought to keep a straight face. She looked like she wanted to yell at him; tell him that he was stupid and call him names the exact same way his father had. And then she schooled her expression, watching him carefully. He struggled not to fiddle with the hem of his sleeve.

            “Look, Blaine, I’m sorry that I left. You know why I had to, right? I assume that you would have figured it out by now.” He was going to snap at her. He was going to start crying and yelling because she didn’t even  _know_. She didn’t know that his father turned around and took everything out on him. She didn’t know that he spent nine years of his life in a metaphorical torture chamber. How could she  _not know_?

            “Oh I know.” He was struggling. “I know exactly what happened.” Kylie’s face softened; she was completely misunderstanding. Good, that would probably make it hurt a lot more.

            “So you’ll forgive me?” She sounded so hopeful and genuine and a smile broke across her face and boy, was it going to feel good to stomp that right into the dirt.

            “Forgive you for leaving me by myself with a monster of a man who beat me up almost every single day of my life from when I was nine to the day I moved out at eighteen?” The horror that washed over her face made him want to laugh because oh was it ever truth time now. Kylie’s face went so pale that he was very sure she was going to pass out. Or throw up. “Please don’t empty your stomach on my freshly polished hardwood.”

            “How can you  _joke_  about this?” One of her hands gripped the edge of the island, knuckles white and she looked like she was holding herself up with just those five fingers.

            “How can you not? You’re the one who let it happen. And sure, Cooper was still around but he didn’t do as much as he could. Yes, Cooper, there’s a whole other subject to discuss.” He took a step forward and it felt good, even though his whole body seemed to throb in protest, his head the strongest. It felt good because he wasn’t cowering and feeling sorry for both her and himself. He was putting her in the place she needed to be. “I tried to commit suicide just a few weeks ago—“ she blanched even further somehow “—and sure, he flew down to see me in the hospital after giving me scarce weekly calls that were mostly filled with facts of himself, just to leave before I woke up out of a  _coma_  because work was just that much more important that his nearly dead brother. Fun fact, he hasn’t talked to me since.”

            “Blaine, you can’t blame me for your brother,” she whispered.

            “No, you’re right. But I want you to leave. Things were finally getting better and then you decided that you had to just show up eleven years late and ruin it all again.”

 

            She had in fact left; heeding his request and slipping out the door without another word, leaving behind the coffee that he soon after dumped down the sink. Blaine slumped further against the couch, tugging the thin blanket that was pooled around his feet up to his waist and staring unseeingly at the television.

 

             _Sometimes he thought about going out and trying to find her. He thought about where he would go first, what relatives he would call, where he would look, what he would say to her. How he’d beg her to take him with her, no matter where she went. But even then, his ten year old mind knew that there was something wrong with all that. He knew that she left not just because of his father but because she obviously didn’t want him. Why else would she leave a seven year old with an abusive parent?_

_Blaine rested his elbows on his windowsill, watching the sky as the clouds drifted by. He thought about what it’d be like to be a cloud. He wouldn’t have to be scared of his father, he wouldn’t have to sit all by himself at lunch, he wouldn’t have to try and explain to people where that one bruise on his arm came from and why it looked suspiciously like a hand print._

_He could just float in the sky and be free and happy (clouds were happy, right?) and when he got sad he could cry and make other people happy because rain was good for people. People liked rain. He would be helping people and that would make him feel good again._

 

            It was exactly 12:01PM when Christian slipped out of his bedroom warily, eyes flickering around the room with the expectation that maybe Kylie was still there, that maybe she was cooking them lunch or something. He visibly relaxed when he didn’t see her.

            “She still thinks that you’re my boyfriend, probably,” Blaine mumbled against his palm where it was pressed to his cheek. Christian gave him a slow smile as he made his way over to sit down next to him.

            “You wish.” Christian nudged his shoulder and Blaine couldn’t help but give him a smile in return.

            “You wish that I wish.” Blaine yawned, breaking it with a laugh when his friend let out an indignant noise and shoved at the shorter man’s thigh.

            They were both quiet for a moment before Christian spoke up again. “How’d it go?”

            “It went.... I don’t know, actually.” Blaine looked over at his roommate, heaving a sigh as he shifted his weight. “I got her to leave but now I just feel kind of guilty. I know that what she did was wrong and she should have done a lot more than she did but I kind of laid a lot on her and I feel a little bit bad.” Because he did. He knew that he snapped at her and half of him wanted to call her and arrange a coffee date so that they could really get things sorted out because if he was being completely honest with himself, he missed her.

            “She is your mother, even if she did walk out on you. Maybe she deserves another chance, maybe she doesn’t; that is completely your call and nobody gets to make that decision but you.” Sometimes he really loved Christian. He was kind but also insightful and it was the perfect balance. “Now, we should go out for dinner because this new restaurant opened up on 49th and I want to go try it.” Blaine laughed as Christian slid off the couch and dragged him up by his hand. He knew that it was far too early to get ready for dinner, but he also knew that Christian was making him get ready now because he would take forever anyways.

 

            It was 4:34PM by the time they finally made it out of the apartment, giggling their way down the hallway like stupid fourteen year olds sneaking out to a party even though it was the middle of the day and they were both adults. Nothing mattered right now; they were just two friends going out to try some stupid new diner so that they could cry over the food because that was what they did best.

 

            They were halfway there when Blaine’s phone rang and a grin peeled across his face. Kurt’s name and face flashed across the screen. And then it was gone. It was there and it rang once and then just  _disappeared_. Kurt must have thought better of it; he must have decided to call him and then had better things to do. Or maybe he just accidentally called him when he meant to text him, something that happened to Blaine too many times to count.

            Blaine waited for a text message that never came. 


	26. You Build Me Up and Then I Fall Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is a bit of a mouthful? I don't know. Anyways, thank you always for reading and reviewing because it means the world to us! We're always open for suggestions! Next week is going to be a busy one, Legally Blonde opens and I don't know when/if I'll get the time to do much quality writing so I'm sorry in advance! This week's song is Human by Christina Perri.

_But I’m only human,_

_And I bleed when I fall down._

_I’m only human,_

_And I crash and I break down._

_Your words in my head, knives in my heart,_

**_You build me up and then I fall apart_ ** _,_

_‘Cause I’m only human._

 

The dinner seemed a lot longer than it probably should have; Blaine checking his phone what must have been every two minutes, and Christian making those weird, quasi-condescending noises each time.

            “Blaine, if you don’t put that away, I’m going to take it from you.” When Blaine glanced up, Christian’s eyebrows were pulled in a firm knit across his forehead as he glared at the device in his friend’s hand. “I’m serious.”

            “Sorry,” Blaine mumbled, stuffing his phone in his pocket and trying desperately to ignore the weight of it against his thigh. “I’m just—“

            “Anxious; I know.” And even though he still looked annoyed, there was softness in his voice.

            “Can we leave soon? I don’t know how much longer I can sit here.” It was 6:14PM, just over an hour since Kurt’s call, or lack thereof.

            “Yeah, sure. I was actually just waiting for you to finish.” Christian gave him a sort of pointed look that Blaine didn’t really understand until his friend’s eyes dropped down to rest on his still half-full plate of pasta.

            “I’ll get it wrapped up; I don’t think I can stomach any more of this.” His roommate sent him a sympathetic look before turning to call their waitress as soon as she strode past their table.

 

            They managed to catch an earlier train, cutting their almost forty minute original travel time in half. Christian kept sending him worried glances and always seemed to have a hand on him somewhere; when they were on the train, his fingers were at Blaine’s elbow, when they were on the sidewalk they brushed his forearm. It was as if Christian was nervous he was going to collapse. And, if Blaine was being completely honest, he felt like he just might.

            The elevator felt like it took forever; a much longer forever than usual. He almost felt claustrophobic, the walls were too close, the air was too thick, and each floor must have taken a whole five minutes each. Except when Blaine checked the time the second they stepped out, it had taken barely two minutes total. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt like he was suffocating, one stupid silly butt-dial from Kurt shouldn’t have been that big of a deal.

            Christian unlocked the door before slipping inside and looking back at Blaine. “Are you going to be okay if I go out for a bit?” Christian’s eyes traced over his body critically, as if Blaine’s inner pain evolved into outer and he might just be sporting a missing arm.

            “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Blaine gave his friend a smile that he desperately hoped would console him but more likely than not came out as a wince. By the flicker that shifted across Christian’s face, it was definitely a cringe.

            “As long as you’re positive.” The older man stepped forward, wrapping Blaine in a firm hug he wished he knew how to thank him for before exiting their little apartment once more and pulling the door shut behind him.

            Blaine twisted to lock the deadbolt before pressing his back to the wood, sliding to sit on the floor and staring unseeingly across the still-dark room. He should be fine. He should be fine.  _He should be fine_. There was nothing wrong at all, he was fine; Kurt loved him and he loved Kurt and he was  _fine_.

            Until he wasn’t. Blaine curled his arms around his legs, pulling his thighs tight against his chest and sucking in heaving breaths as he tried to force himself to breathe. He let out a choked sob, pressing his forehead into his knees as he shook and fought to get himself under control because he was  _fine_.

            And then his phone rang,  _Teenage Dream_  chiming from his pocket. Blaine twisted just enough to fish it out of his pants, wiping furiously at his eyes and sniffing pitifully because Kurt called him back and he was fine.

            “Hello? Blaine? Is everything alright?” No.

            “Hi, I uh—yeah. Why?” He was lying again. He was lying to his  _boyfriend_  after he was pretty sure he’d promised not to hide things any more. Or maybe that was a promise to himself. Either way he was failing.

            “The voicemail you left me. You didn’t sound okay. Something about your mom?” Blaine pinched his lips together, trying not to chew the inside of his cheek because he didn’t remember. That must have been what he did the other night because he  _couldn’t remember_. Dammit.

            “Fuck. I didn’t even know I called you. Shit.” He wanted to hit his head off the door and call himself pathetic, stupid names for the rest of the night because he was an absolute idiot. And he never wanted to get drunk again.

            “What’s going on? If you’re in trouble, you can tell me. You can tell me anything, Blaine, I want to help you.” Blaine’s eyes filled up again and he struggled to swallow around the lump clogging his throat because he  _was_  in trouble and he  _wasn’t_  fine and Kurt wanted to help him. He wanted to be there and look after him. He’d made a sword.

            “It’s just—“ Blaine sniffed, lifting a hand to rub at his nose, “—my mom showed up yesterday out of nowhere.” That was the problem. He wasn’t fine, he was never fine. She showed up and knocked him down. He tried to center his struggles around Kurt when he wasn’t even involved.

            “What?! The mom-that-walked-out-on-you mom?” Did that ever sting. “Oh my God what did she say?”

            “No, the mom that I mysteriously adopted overnight.” He knew it wasn’t the time to make a joke but he didn’t know how else to handle it. Blaine’s eyes filled up again and he rubbed at them once more because he wasn’t supposed to cry over something so stupid, even though the logical half of his brain told him that it wasn’t stupid. “Yes, that mom. She just appeared and said she was sorry and tried to pretend like nothing happened and I don’t know what to do, Kurt.” His voice broke at the end and Blaine wanted to stab himself in the throat.

            “Tell her to go fuck herself. She doesn’t deserve you, Blaine.” The way Kurt said his name was just so soft, so careful and loving that made him wanted to cry all over again. “You can’t just show up on your son’s doorstep fifteen years too late and expect him to forgive you.”

            And he was right, he was so, so right. “She’s my mom....” Blaine swiped his sleeve across his cheek. He didn’t know why he was defending her; he didn’t know what he owed her.

            “She left you alone with your abusive father.”

            “But she came back.... Doesn’t that mean something? I don’t know what to do.” Because maybe if he repeated it enough times Kurt would let him give up and everything would be over.

            Instead his boyfriend sighed, breath crackling through the phone and Blaine squeezed his eyes shut. “If you can find it in you to forgive her, then do so. And if you can’t, hopefully that’ll teach her a lesson.”

            “I’m just really scared,” Blaine whispered.

            “She can’t hurt you. Not anymore.” He wanted so badly to believe him. So,  _so_  badly.

            “But she’s going to.” She was. She was because that was the only way they were going to get through this.

            “I won’t let her, Blaine. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Blaine wanted Kurt’s arms around him; he wanted to cry until he couldn’t because Kurt would keep him safe.

            “I’m so sorry that I drunk-dialed you. I love you so much, Kurt. Please always remember that.” He didn’t know why he was trying to convince him, he didn’t know why he was going off about this now because Kurt wasn’t going anywhere.

            “I don’t care about that. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I love you, too.”

            Blaine nodded, chewing his lower lip before realizing that Kurt couldn’t see him. “I’m okay, I think. I better go, or let you go. I’m sure you’re busy. I’m sorry.” He should probably get himself off the floor at some point.

            “Rachel just woke up. I—are you positive, Blaine? I can come over if you need me to—“

            Blaine cut him off with a cough, sniffling feebly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m um—I’m fine.”

            “I’m coming over and you can’t stop me. I’ll be okay, alright? Just hold on.” He was panicking now. He couldn’t have Kurt come over. He couldn’t come over and see Blaine curled up in his doorway with a snot covered sleeve and tear stained cheeks. Absolutely not.

            “Don’t! Don’t, please don’t. I don’t want you to see this. I don’t need you to come over.” He did. He so did and he didn’t know why he was denying it but it just felt like something he had to do.

            “Blaine Devon Anderson, I’ve seen you at your worst and your best, and both of them only make me love you more. I want to help. I don’t care about anything else. I’ll be there in an hour, alright?” He could already hear Kurt moving around.

            “I said I’m fine. I’m really fine.” Again, maybe if he said it enough times.

            “Better leave the door unlocked. Love you.”

            “Kurt!” And then his boyfriend hung up. Blaine dropped his phone, scrambling to push himself to his feet and stumbling down the hallway toward the bathroom. He partially blamed himself for not forcing Kurt not to come, except he knew that he would have anyways because there was nothing that stood between Kurt Hummel and what he thought was the right thing to do.

            Blaine caught himself on the handle, wrenching the door open and slamming it behind him without even turning on the light. He sucked in a slow breath, fingers clenching around the edge of the counter in the dark as he struggled to stop shaking.

 

             _“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice echoed through the house warily, he could hear the light footsteps of his boyfriend on the stairs and Blaine almost climbed into the bathtub just to isolate himself from the rest of the room because this wasn’t supposed to happen. Kurt wasn’t supposed to see him crying and broken because he was supposed to be strong for them both; one little incident at school shouldn’t have thrown him over the edge because he’d taken so much worse and he was_ fine _. Wasn’t he?_

_Blaine’s back dug into the edge of the tub as he stared at the door. He should have left the light off. He should have left it off so that Kurt wouldn’t find him and he would just be able to cry by himself because it was better that way._

_He realized too late that he didn’t lock the door. Kurt’s slender fingers appeared around the edge as he pushed it open, followed by his hair and then a worried, pinched expression that just made Blaine want to cry more._

_“Are you okay?” His boyfriend slipped inside the little room, shutting the door behind him. Blaine knew that Kurt was already fully aware he wasn’t okay. He just stared up at his boyfriend, worrying his lip between his teeth and trying desperately to swallow. He couldn’t._

_Kurt inched his way across the room, dropping to his knees to sit in front of Blaine and resting tentative fingers on the shorter man’s raised knees. “Honey, what happened?” And it was just so stupid,_ he _was so stupid._

 _“Nothing,” Blaine choked out, hands clenching around the hem of his shirt and tugging as if that would be the thing to keep him grounded. “It was nothing. It_ is _nothing.” Because if he repeated it enough, it would make sense._

_Kurt just raised an eyebrow, shuffling ever closer and leaning his chin on Blaine’s knees. “You’re a shitty liar. Please tell me what happened?”_

_And it was just so stupid that he didn’t think he could. It happened in the choir room; everyone was settling down into their seats, Blaine made an offhand comment to Santana who turned around and snapped at him. It wasn’t the yelling and the name calling that drove it home, though. Kurt had walked in the second Blaine ran out and didn’t have the time to process and chase him. But now here they were._

_“It’s okay. I’m okay. I don’t want to add anything else to your plate. You have enough to deal with. I’m fine.”  Blaine dropped his eyes to the tile, fighting to look anywhere but at his boyfriend._

_One of Kurt’s fingers found the bottom of his chin, forcing his face up. “_ Nothing you confess could make me love you less _.” And the dam broke._

What only felt like ten minutes must have actually been an hour because he heard the front door open. Blaine wiped at his eyes, choking on another sob that managed to force its way out anyways. He slid down the wall, scooting to press his back to the edge of the tub because maybe the feeling of it digging into his spine would keep him from floating into space.

            Blaine never turned the light on, figuring that it was a lot easier to deal with things in the dark because it was. He didn’t have to see and it was one less thing to worry about. There was a soft tap on the door, the tentative wrap of a single knuckle and then it was opening and no, no he wasn’t ready for this. Blaine buried his face in his knees, wrapping an arm around his head to shield his eyes from both the light and Kurt.

            And then he was right in Blaine’s space, warm familiar arms circling his body and tugging him against a chest that felt like home. “I’m so sorry she hurt you, B. I’m so sorry.”

            Blaine just shook his head. “I just don’t know what to do. She left me. She left me by myself with  _him_.” He felt like if he spoke any louder, if he even unlocked his teeth, he would shatter.

            “It’s over now. It’s over and they can’t hurt you anymore. I’m here.” He wanted to believe him. He wanted so badly to just let everything else go and pretend that Kurt was the only person in the whole world except he wasn’t.

             “She left me. She just left me.” He didn’t know what else to say. He knew he was rambling and the words didn’t even really hurt anymore. They were just a fact. “I was finally getting over it and she came back. Why did she have to come back?”

             Kurt went silent momentarily before gripping his shoulders and spinning to pull him face-to-face. Kurt’s eyes seemed to go on forever; oceanic pools that held everything he needed and everything he could ever look forward to. This was his forever. “You have got to stop holding onto the past.” He was holding on, wasn’t he? That’s what he was used to. “All it’s doing is ruining your future and I won’t let that happen. She did what she did and there’s nothing we can do to change it. Now you have to decide whether or not you’re going to forgive her.” But he didn’t  _know_  what he wanted to do. He didn’t know if he wanted to forgive her and move on, maybe start a new, healthy relationship with his mother. Or if he just wanted to let go of the past.

             “I don’t know,” he whispered, blinking against the tears that gathered at the edges of his vision and swallowing down the lump that seemed ever-present in his throat.

             “I don’t need you to know, I need you to think.” Kurt sounded so absolutely sure of himself; like he read the script before the show and already knew all the lines. It gave Blaine hope, something he forgot the feeling of.

             He twisted his fingers into the front of Kurt’s shirt (soaked; and if it wasn’t love that the older man sacrificed an article of clothing, Blaine didn’t know what was) and stared down at them. “I guess I need to talk to her. But I don’t know if I can.”

              “I’ll be right with you every step of the way. I’m here to stay, through thick and thin.” What Blaine would give to throw himself into those words.

             “But what if she doesn’t want to talk to me? I kind of…snapped at her.” He dragged a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily before blinking back up at his boyfriend.

             Kurt gave him a smile that must have held the moon. “She didn’t come all this way for nothing. She must’ve expected that you’d be mad—furious. Whatever you said was justified. You have to understand that.” One of Kurt’s hands found his face, the pads of his fingers sweeping along the hinge of his jaw as the other brushed off a tear Blaine didn’t realize had fallen and pressing a warm, tender kiss to his mouth. “Now can we please get up off the floor? It’s been a long day and my back is killing me.”

             Blaine released a puff of air that came out as a sort of choked off giggle. “Yeah. Yeah, we should get off the floor.” Kurt got to his feet, grasping Blaine’s hands and pulling him up as well before dropping one and tugging Blaine out of the still-dark bathroom and out to the living room where he’d never turned on a light to begin with.

             Blaine released Kurt’s fingers, circling the island to dig in the breadbox. “Toast?” Kurt nodded as he took a seat on one of the stools. “So, what made your day particularly long?” He twisted back toward the toaster, slipping in a few pieces for the both of them.

             “Well…Remember David Karofsky?” Kurt did that suspense-pause that he had a knack for doing without realizing. “He’s kind of a stripper now. And um…He has HIV.” Blaine was on his way to putting the bag away which was of course useless when it hit the floor with a thump.

             “Wait, what?! When were you talking to Karofsky and how is he a  _stripper_ , and HIV?  _What_?” If he didn’t think his mother just reappearing was enough, this would definitely spice up his life.

Kurt gave an awkward chuckle. “He works at the club Santana got a job at. I kind of lured him into meeting with me. I didn’t know it would turn out like…that.”

             “Jeez, who would’ve known, huh?”

             “I know. And that’s not the only surprise I discovered today.”

             Blaine made a noise in the back of his throat, twisting to lean his elbows against the island and watching his boyfriend from under his lashes. “Do tell. I need all the Hummel gossip.”

             Something flickered over Kurt’s face, like a little heat wave of affection. “Not sure how juicy this one is. Don’t tell Christian,” the taller man dropped his voice to a stage-whisper, stretching over the distance between them, “but Rachel’s pregnant.”

             Blaine’s mouth popped open.

             “ _What_!?” And that voice was definitely not his. 


	27. The Winds of Change Are Blowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another short one basically because I'm absolutely exhausted and also writer's blocked majorly, hence the late posting, we well. Legally Blonde went amazingly; we got standing ovations each show and it was absolutely fantastic, if tiring. I promise that the next chapter will hopefully be a lot longer (it will) and a lot better. This song is Make You Feel My Love by Adele. Enjoy!

_The storms are raging on the rolling sea,_

_And on the highway of regret._

**_The winds of change are blowing_ ** _wild and free._

_You ain’t seen nothing like me yet._

 

            Christian had disappeared almost as soon as he entered, leaving Kurt and Blaine alone in the little kitchenette to freak out together. And only an hour later, Kurt had also left, calling it a night for the both of them, pressing a warm, loving kiss to Blaine’s lips, wishing him sweet dreams, and slipping out the door.

            But now it was a new morning and he was panicking. Christian still hadn’t come home, nor answered any of Blaine’s texts, and he didn’t want to pester Kurt again. There was only one thing he could really do, and it wasn’t easy. He was going to have to get a hold of his mother.

            Blaine slid down the wall to sit on the bathroom floor, a position he saw himself in a lot more times than not as he twisted his cell phone in his fingers. He had to do this; it wasn’t something that was just going to go away.

            Blaine pulled up his call log, thumb hovering over that one persistent unknown number before pressing down gingerly, as if the lightest tap was going to shatter the screen. It rang three times.

            “ _Hello?_ ” Her voice made him both want to cry and laugh because this was his mother for God sake.

            “I’d introduce myself but you already know who it is so uh – hi, I guess.” She went silent and Blaine sucked in a breath that felt like it rattled through his whole body. He could do this; he was promising himself that he  _would_  do this.

            “ _I didn’t think I’d hear from you again_.” Kylie sounded so fragile and  _human_  that he almost regretted yelling at her the other day. Almost.

            Blaine paused, teeth pressing into his lower lip. “I really want to fix things.” Just saying the words out loud felt so good that he wanted to cry because it was true. He really wanted to fix this with her; he missed his mother.

            There was a breath on the other end, quickly followed by what sounded like a sniff. “ _Really? After everything I’ve done to you?_ ” If she was anything like him (she must have been, because he definitely didn’t get his traits from his father) she’d been awake all night beating herself up over the things she didn’t even know happened. She probably hated herself just as much as he did for walking out.

            Blaine sucked in a slow breath, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning the back of his head against the wall. “Yeah.” A gasping sob echoed through the phone and he curled his other hand into a fist, nails digging into his palm to stave off his own tears. “We should meet for coffee. Can we? I think we need to have a serious talk.”

            More sniffles and the rustling of fabric. “ _Yeah, yeah. Yes. Yeah._ ” She was probably nodding her head as well; something that Blaine did while he was talking on the phone because he forgot the other person couldn’t see him. His suspicions were confirmed when she gave a wet chuckle at herself.

            Blaine rubbed his hand over his face, pressing the pads of his fingers against his eyes briefly before leaning his cheek into his palm. “There’s a cute little café by the park called  _Counter Culture_ , we could meet there?”

            “ _That sounds perfect._ ” Another shaky breath. “ _What time?_ ”

            Blaine didn’t even know what time it was then, but he assumed it was probably close to noon. “Is around three okay?”

            “ _Three sounds good, yeah._ ”

 

            They had given their curt little goodbyes, fumbling through them and promising to meet in what actually turned out to be two hours before hanging up. And now Blaine was sitting in that corner table that he and Kurt sat at mostly because it made him feel safe. Although it was just with his mother so there shouldn’t be a problem but maybe if he sat in Kurt’s seat, he would feel stronger; like he could actually do this.

            Kylie walked in at exactly three o’clock, how she managed that was unknown to Blaine. Eyes that were the exact same shade as his drifted around the little shop before finally landing on Blaine’s. She gave him a hopeful, if weak smile as she strode across the space between them almost carefully.

            She stopped, fingers clenched around the strap of the bag that hung over her shoulder that was probably supposed to be a purse but instead just looked like a baby satchel. “Hi.”

            Blaine offered her a little smile. “Hi.” This was going to be awkward and probably painful but they were going to get through this. She inched toward him nervously, pulling out the chair opposite him and dropping into it. She definitely changed her tune from the other day. “I guess we need to talk, right?”

            Kylie just nodded her head, resting her bag in her lap and folding her hands on top of the table. “Blaine, honey, I’m so sorr—“

            He held up a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t apologize. I understand why you left.”

            “No, there’s more. I didn’t just leave because he was... abusive.” Blaine froze; truth time. “There was also someone else. Your father was never the nicest man; very strictly religious, hard rules. He was... straight, to say the least.” Blaine leaned back in his seat, eyeing her hunched form carefully. “There was someone else,” she blurted, eyes trained intently on the table top. And that was definitely the last thing he expected, partially because he never remembered anything about her sneaking out of the house or just mysteriously missing. Or maybe he did remember and just blocked it out because it didn’t make sense.

            Blaine let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You were cheating on him?” He snorted, burying his face in his palms and trying to smother his laughter because this wasn’t funny at all. Except it was because his straight edge father had a wife who hated him long before she left and that just made his life a little bit better. Anything that pitted the world against his father.

            She made a face at him. “Yeah, why is that so funny? It’s horrible.”

            “It’s funny because we both hate him.” Blaine carefully raised his eyes to meet his mother and gave her a slow smile. This was the way things were supposed to be; they were supposed to have a good laugh at the expense of his father and it was supposed to feel  _good_. And God, did it ever. “It’s funny because he’s a horrible person and you left because of more reasons. You didn’t just leave because he hurt you, you left because you loved someone else. You didn’t think he was going to hurt me.” And then his laughter turned into tears and Blaine couldn’t stop crying. “You didn’t know.”

            Kylie got up out of her seat, rushing around the table to drag Blaine into her arms. “I didn’t know. I never would have left if I had.”

            “I thought you hated me. I thought you hated me and wanted to leave me by myself with him to teach me a lesson for something I didn’t know I’d done.” He wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist, dragging her closer and just crying; something he felt like he did a lot of as of recently.

            Kylie’s fingers threaded through his loose hair, cradling his head against her neck as she sunk to her knees beside him. “Oh, my sweet boy, I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen. If I’d have known what he’d do to you, I never would have left. I’d rather get hurt than you.”

            Everything slowly started coming together and began to feel right again.

 

            Four hours later and Blaine was curled up on his sofa, under a thick blanket and twirling his phone in his fingers. His head hurt from all the crying he’d been doing, his toes were a little bit numb from the cold that seemed to find him no matter where he went, and his cheeks ached from all the smiling he’d been doing. But he’d figured things out with his mother; they made a promise to get coffee together at least once a week and catch up on each other’s lives; she also promised to have a chat with Cooper.

            Blaine hit the call key beside Kurt’s name. It rang twice before the cheery, bell-like tone of his boyfriend sounded through the speaker. “ _Hello, handsome_.” And if Blaine were still in high school, he’d be squealing like a thirteen year old girl. Screw high school; he was trying not to scream regardless.

            “Hi,” he whispered, worried that if he spoke too loud he would suffer a voice crack he’d never hear the end of.

            “ _How did the date with your mom go?_ ” Kurt was speaking in that careful, gentle tone that he did when he was worried he was going to push too far.

            “I forgave her.” Blaine bit his bottom lip, sandwiching his phone between his ear and shoulder as he twisted his fingers together in his lap. “She told me a lot of stuff that I didn’t know about and it made everything fit together and I forgave her, Kurt.” He let out a laugh, trying not to groan as it made his head throb.

            “ _I’m so glad that you could_.”

            “Me too.”


	28. When I Saw You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I know that this is a week late but shit has been hectic as hell. I'm almost done my exams, I have one more tomorrow and then I'm free for the summer. I'm so, so, SO sorry that this is late but hopefully the cotent makes up for it. I haven't written smut in a very very vERY long time so pardon the possible suckage. This song is Tee Shirt by Birdy. Warnings for poorly written frottage, mentions of breathplay, and dumb things about being in love.

_I should know,_

_‘Cause I’d spend all the whole day_

_Listening to your message I’m keeping_

_And never deleting._

 

 **_When I saw you_ ** _,_

_Everyone knew_

_I liked the effect that you had on my eyes._

 

            Blaine pushed open the door to the apartment, letting out a laugh at his mother as she waddled after him with her six bags of groceries she insisted on buying him.

 

             _“Blaine! You literally have_ no _food! How do you even stay alive? That boyfriend of yours obviously doesn’t try and feed you.” She’d clicked her tongue at him as she spun in the kitchenette, eyeing the loaves of bread and four boxes of Kraft Dinner in the cupboard._

_“That’s because he’s not my boyfriend,” Blaine mumbled, pulling open the fridge to try and make a point that they did in fact have food somewhere. His face fell when he realized all they had was a case of beer, a jug of milk and half a pound of butter._

_“Fine, you’re roommate sucks at being a roommate.”_

_“He does not,” he grumbled, eyes trained on the floor. “He’s just... been busy with his own problems.”_

_“Obviously not problems about not eating.”_

_“His girlfriend is pregnant and he hasn’t even been home for a few days.”_

_“So it’s your fault there’s no food in this house.” Kylie gave him the evil eye and he shrunk against the counter, giving her a little half-smile._

_“Sorry?”_

 

They were putting away all the new material when his mother spoke up. “So, do you have a boyfriend? I mean, you must considering you’re just so damn handsome.” As she passed him, she pinched his cheek and Blaine groaned.

            “You’re my mother, not my grandmother. You’re not old enough to be pinching my cheeks.” She chuckled and he smiled. It felt good to be around someone that wasn’t Kurt or Christian. It felt good to have his mom back. “But uh, yeah. I do.”

            Kylie swivelled to face him, lifting an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

            Blaine’s face heated up and he ducked his head, turning to shove bags of bread in the freezer to avoid his mother’s eyes. “His name’s Kurt. We dated in high school until he went to university and now we’re back together.”

            Kylie made a sort of cooing noise, fingers brushing his arm as she stood beside him. “Do I get to see a picture? Is he cute?”

            “Yes, and yes.” Blaine dug his phone out of his pocket just as it vibrated. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered.

            “Boyfriend?”

            “Yeah.” Blaine sucked his lower lip into his mouth, blushing down at his phone. His mother gave an excited giggle, turning to finish with the groceries.

             **Are you busy? Rachel’s pissed at me and I need to get out of here**.

            “You’re still showing me a picture. When do I get to meet him? How is he?”

            Blaine froze, eyes trailing up to rest on Kylie. “You want to meet him?”

            “Of course I do; I want to meet the boy who makes my baby happy.” She gave him a warm, loving smile over her shoulder. “And answer my question, you butthead. How is he?”

            “Oh, my roommate is his best friend’s –the pregnant one- boyfriend, so he’s dealing with a lot of drama there. He just asked if he could come see me.”

            “Oh honey, I can leave! I don’t want to smother you and we have a lunch date soon anyways.”

            “Mo—“

            “I’ll just go.” She was already backing out of the kitchen.

            “Mom—“

            “Get your man. And  _be safe_!” she shouted before pulling the door closed behind her. Blaine sucked in a slow breath and let it out with a laugh.

             ** _No, I’m not busy. What did you do to summon the wrath of Rachel onto you?_**  Blaine put away the rest of the groceries, moving to sit down on the couch and tucking his legs under himself.

             **It’s my fault Christian found out. Can I come over? I’m afraid she might try to shave my head.**

            Blaine glanced around the room, taking in the book lying open on the coffee table, the empty tea mugs, movie cases piled beside the television when he was too lazy to put them away.  ** _Yeah, yeah sure. My house is a mess, you have been warned._**

             **I’ll be right over.**

 **_Okay, awesome. I eagerly await your arrival._**  How long was Kurt going to be? How quickly did  _right over_  mean? He looked like shit, and  _Kurt was coming right over_. Blaine made a noise he would deny until the day he died as he half-fell off the couch, rushing down the hallway and slamming the bathroom door closed. He needed a shower. His hair was a mess, he probably smelled absolutely miserable and his mother didn’t want to say anything.

            Blaine threw off his clothes faster than any man on the planet and jumped in the shower before it’d warmed up and started screaming at the cold.

 

            Blaine stumbled out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his waist with another draped over the top of his head. Clothes. He wasted time in the shower just trying to get the right temperature, and then he realized he was out of shampoo and had to go digging in the cupboard below the sink for more, figuring out too late that he didn’t have any extra and ended up having to use Christian’s which smelled like a shitty car freshener and weird Christmas trees.

            Blaine clutched his towel around his waist, even though there was nobody else in the house as he dug through his dresser. Sweats. Sweats. Sweats. Shorts.  _Jeans_. Score. He dug them out of the bottom of the drawer, pressing them to his nose to check if they were clean because God knows if they were; he was an idiot. They ended up being washed; praise. And then he was out of briefs, leaving him to struggle into boxers and then try and get his jeans around them without bunching up. There was a knock on the door just as he grabbed a purple v-neck t-shirt.

            Blaine bolted from the room, hopping on one foot as he tried to get the shirt over his head because maybe that would help. He half-slid around the corner with one arm in the  _wrong hole_  and finally,  _finally_  figured himself out and threw the door open in a wide gesture with a grin and a not-so-subtle panting.

            Kurt returned his smile, slipping inside and setting his over-night bag down beside the shoe rack, removing his coat before wrapping his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and dragging him in for a hug. “Thanks for letting me come over. I really needed a break from all the Berry drama.”

            Blaine tucked his face against Kurt’s neck, slipping his hands around the taller man’s hips to sit at the small of his back. “You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

            Kurt leaned back slightly to press a kiss to Blaine’s cheek. “Mmm. You smell good,” he half-moaned. Blaine certainly didn’t agree; he smelled like a Christmas tree stuffed in the trunk of a car. But if Kurt thought so, he wasn’t going to complain.

            Blaine let out a giggle as he stepped away, grasping Kurt’s hand and dragging him toward the couch. “I just had a shower.” He dropped down on one of the cushions, pulling Kurt down with him. “So, catch me up on all this Berry drama. Christian just never came home, so I’ve been on the outs.”

            “Oh God,” Kurt sighed, dragging a hand through his hair in a way he must have been doing a lot recently because he looked like he wanted to rip it out. “She was so pissed off at me for telling Christian even though I didn’t tell him, I told  _you_ , but she doesn’t listen. She just lies on the couch and cries and Christian tends to her every need like a faithful little puppy. He’s so sweet, that one. I’m glad he was the one taking care of you.” His eyes landed on Blaine and they were so nervous. But they were loving; warm and sweet and loving. This was what it felt like to be loved.

            Blaine just stared down at their hands, making a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat as he ran his thumb over Kurt’s. “That sounds horrifying. But yes, Christian’s a good guy.”

            The corner of Kurt’s mouth twitched and he leaned into Blaine’s shoulder. “Can we watch a movie? I need a distraction.”

            Blaine straightened, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead before sliding off the couch and crawling toward his messy stack of movies. “Any ideas?”

            Kurt just shrugged. “You pick.”

            “I picked last time,” Blaine whined, sitting back on his heels.

            “Let’s do  _Star Wars_ ; I know how much you love it. And it’s great background noise for when we make-out.”

            Blaine twisted to grin over his shoulder. “Kurt Hummel, you sly dog.”

            The taller man pointed to himself innocently. “Me? A dog? Hey, I’m not the one with a weird fetish for licking my cheek.”

            Blaine gasped in mock-horror, pressing a hand to his chest. “How dare you.”

            Kurt just rolled his eyes. “Oh, just get over here, dork.” Blaine slid in the DVD ( _The Phantom Menace_ ) before scrambling back to hop on the couch.

            “Hi.”

            Kurt snorted, grasping Blaine’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “Hi.” The shorter man leaned his cheek on his boyfriend’s shoulder, eyes trained on the television where the opening summary began its journey up the screen before flicking down to their locked hands.

            “I always hated these opening credits. They’re so damn long. Can we get to Ewan McGregor’s face, please?”

            Blaine laughed, tucking his nose against Kurt’s neck. “I think they’re cool. But yes, I wouldn’t object to his face.”

            “I like your face better.” Kurt pulled away, scooting to lean against the arm of the couch and throwing his feet into Blaine’s lap.

            Blaine pouted briefly at the loss of warmth, running his fingers over Kurt’s calves. How did he ever get so lucky? “Of course, just like I like your face better.”

            Kurt shifted slightly closer, doing that thing where he blinked up at Blaine innocently from under his eyelashes when he wanted something. “Oh, do you now?”

            Blaine’s hand slid up to Kurt’s knee. Was this going where he thought it was going? “Yeah, I do. Besides, Ewan looks vaguely like Christian and it messes with my head.”

            He laughed. “Ew. Now every time I fantasize about Ewan, I’ll think of Christian.”

            Blaine shot him a grin, wrinkling his nose. “You’re welcome.”

            “Guess I’ll just have to fantasize about you now,” Kurt sighed dejectedly, turning back to the screen.

            Blaine swatted at his knee. “Such a hardship; you have to fantasize about your boyfriend.” Even just the word gave him butterflies.

            “Mmmm boyfriend. We’re boyfriends.” Apparently he wasn’t the only one.

            “Yes, we are.”

            “I love saying that. It means I can kiss you whenever I want.”

            Blaine hummed in the back of his throat, kneading his fingers over Kurt’s thigh. “Yeah, it does.”

            One of Kurt’s hands fisted in the front of Blaine’s shirt, hauling him down. The younger man let out a squeak, catching himself with a hand on Kurt’s chest. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

            “I—“ Blaine swallowed, “okay. Yes. Yeah. Yes. Please.” And as their mouths fit together perfectly, Blaine melted, shifting to press Kurt’s back flat against the couch as a hand slipped to cradle his jaw and he moved to straddle Kurt’s hips. Was this even real? How did this become Blaine’s life when just a few weeks ago he was still stuck on drugs and messing up his life?

            Kurt’s fingertips nudged up the bottom of Blaine’s shirt, the flat of his palm sliding over the skin of his stomach and Blaine felt like he was on fire. And then the pressure against his lips was gone and Kurt was tearing Blaine’s shirt up and off his body, tossing it to the floor.

            Kurt was staring at him, eyes raking over his chest and stomach, sitting at his hips and trailing over the spread and stretch of his thighs. He almost wanted to feel self-conscious but he couldn’t; not when Kurt’s pupils dilated so far he could hardly see the midnight blue ring around them.

            “Is this okay?” Kurt’s voice was scratchy and deep and  _broken_ , and it went straight between Blaine’s legs.

            “So, so okay,” he breathed, dropping to catch himself on hands beside Kurt’s head and trailing wet, wanting kisses down the side of his throat. Blaine’s fingers grazed over Kurt’s ribs, slipping to drive the hem of Kurt’s shirt up his stomach a few inches almost carefully. Kurt gave a breathy moan and Blaine’s eyes fell to rest on the strip of creamy, toned,  _perfect_  skin of his boyfriend’s abdomen. “Can I?”

            “God yes.” Blaine sat him up just enough to remove the offending fabric, tossing it somewhere over the back of the couch where he was almost nervous Kurt was going to attack him for. A hand fisted in Blaine’s hair (probably one of the first times he was thankful for lack of gel) and yanked him back (not so subtly) to Kurt’s neck.

            Blaine kissed his way over Kurt’s collarbones, barely resisting the urge to leave hickies. His hands gripped the older man’s waist, fingers pressing into warm, smooth skin as he kissed his way down Kurt’s chest, lingering at protruding hipbones before trekking back up.

            Blaine’s hips twitched down out of impulse, grinding forward just enough that he almost moaned it felt  _so amazing_ , because this was Kurt.

            “S-stop.” Kurt jerked away, eyes squeezing shut. And the euphoria crashed into nothing.

            Blaine sat up so fast the blood left in his head seemed to slosh around, black hazing the edges of his vision. “What did I do?” He knew what he did, but he needed Kurt to tell him. Needed him to tell him  _no_.

            The other man shook his head maybe an inch in either direction it was so slight. “No it wasn’t you. I just—“ His hands came up to cover his face and Blaine wanted to cry for the both of them. This was  _that asshole’s_  fault.

            Blaine tugged his hands away, pressing a kiss to the center of Kurt’s palm. “Hey, I’m sorry. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

            Kurt paused for a second, watching him carefully before shaking his head. For real this time. “I want to,” he breathed. “I want to try. But just... slow.”

            “Are you sure?” And even though his body was screaming  _yes yes yes_ , he needed to look after Kurt first.

            Kurt gave him a smile, fingers reaching up to curl around the back of his neck and pulling him down to press a gentle kiss to Blaine’s lips. “Yes. I want you.”

            Blaine’s hand returned to its place on Kurt’ chest, pressing ever-so-slightly to both hold himself up and ground Kurt. It was something they figured out in high school together. “Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to pressure you,” he glanced down at his hand, “no pun intended.”

            “You’re not pressuring me,” Kurt chuckled. “At all. I want to be with you more than anything, I’m just scared of what it’ll trigger. God, Blaine, I’m scared of how damaged I really am,” he choked out wetly.

            Blaine swallowed, eyes dancing over Kurt’s face. Someone so beautiful shouldn’t be allowed to hurt. “You’re not damaged. Never.” Kurt sniffed, rubbing a hand over his cheeks. “We’ll go slowly, and carefully, and  _together_.”

            Kurt smiled up at him with all the warmth of the sun. “Just like it used to be.”

            “Just like it used to be. Do you want to switch? Maybe if you’re on top it’ll be easier to handle.” He seemed to mull it over for a second, a peek of his top teeth digging into his lower lip as he stared at the ceiling past Blaine’s head.

            “Yeah, yeah that sounds... good. Yeah.” Blaine shuffled off him, standing at the side while Kurt shifted to his knees. Blaine flopped into Kurt’s previous position, sprawling out on his back but spreading his legs to give his boyfriend room. The ball of Blaine’s foot touched the floor and he almost wondered if they should go to his bedroom instead. Except the look on Christian’s face when (if) he realized they had sex on the couch would be priceless.

            Kurt looked skeptical before slowly lowering himself between Blaine’s legs, palms pressing into the cushion on either side of the shorter man’s ribs. He hovered over Blaine’s chest, eyes flicking over his boyfriend’s face before finally pressing down. It felt perfect. And it wasn’t just Blaine who thought that if the flash of relief over Kurt’s face said anything.

            “Good?”

            “Yes. This is perfect, yes.” He looked  _ecstatic_ ; so happy that his nerves weren’t kicking in and that he was doing this because he wanted to. Kurt’s hips settled down onto his and Blaine couldn’t help the little broken off moan as their erections fit together. This was the way things were supposed to be. He was always supposed to be with Kurt; they fit together perfectly. They were each other’s missing puzzle piece.

            Blaine lifted a hand to cup Kurt’s jaw, pulling him down into an open mouthed kiss; lips slotting, noses bumping, breathing over each other’s cheeks. Kurt made a little noise, hips rutting forward and dragging his cock up the length of Blaine’s through their jeans.

            The shorter man’s head fell back against the cushion as he gasped, opening his neck to Kurt and squeezing his eyes shut. His fingers found their hold on his boyfriend’s hips, urging him down again and he took it in stride, repeating the movement and pressing his mouth and  _teeth_  against Blaine’s throat.

            “You can give me hickies. God, please do,” he moaned out, fingernails digging into skin. He almost hoped he would leave marks, even just little scratches so that Kurt remembered how much he  _wanted_  him.

            Kurt’s mouth drifted down the tendon in his throat, teeth grazing heated and already sweat-damp skin before settling at the junction where Blaine’s shoulder met his neck. His hips pumped forward again and Blaine arched his back ever-so-slightly, toes curling as he shuddered. “Please, please.” Kurt ground down, mouth clamping around the muscle and Blaine could  _feel_  him smiling. “You’re such a smug bastard,” Blaine hissed.

            “Mmhm.” Kurt’s teeth dug into his skin, one hand sliding to tangle in Blaine’s hair and the other wrapping lightly around the base of his throat. He was almost worried Kurt was going to delve right into breath-play when he realized what he was doing.

             _Heartbeat._  He was monitoring Blaine’s heartbeat, something he’d done in high school as a way to remember that this was real, that  _they_  were real.

            “Honey, you’re killing me.” Blaine ran the pads of his fingers up Kurt’s spine, settling over his shoulder blades. Kurt pulled away, eyes resting on what must have been an impressive hickey if the way he grinned said anything.

            “Aw, well we can’t have that, can we?”

            “Definitely no—“ He broke off with a groan as Kurt dragged his hips forward slowly and deliberately, the zippers of their jeans grinding and rubbing over each other. “More, more. Please, more.” Blaine was never one for begging but when your boyfriend resorts to torturing your dick, you turn to desperate measures.

            “Only because you asked so nicely.” Kurt ground forward again, both hands sliding down to get a firm grip on Blaine’s thighs and pushing them apart just that much more as he pushed himself up on his knees. One of Blaine’s hands curled around Kurt’s neck, pulling him down so that their foreheads rested together, panting against each other’s mouths as they rocked together, cocks pressed between them and grinding between several layers of clothing that somehow still managed to feel amazing. Blaine arched his back, his other hand sliding to press against the small of Kurt’s back. Closer, closer,  _closer_ ; they needed to be closer.

            “God, you feel so good,” Blaine exhaled in a way that probably sounded a lot more like a whine but he didn’t care, and if the way Kurt’s hips jolted forward and he bit his lower lip was any indication, he didn’t care either. Kurt’s hands moved to grip Blaine’s sides, fingers tightening against the skin in such a way that Blaine felt like he could feel it in his  _bones_.

            “You feel good, too.” Kurt’s mouth found the hinge of Blaine’s jaw, lips working down to the hollow below his ear. Blaine squeezed his eyes shit, hands drifting carefully to cup Kurt’s ass and pull him somehow even closer and harder.

            Blaine felt like they’d only just started and he was already so close to toppling over the edge. It was probably because it was Kurt, and he always put him right on the precipice no matter what it was they were doing. Kurt’s hips jerked forward at just the right angle, slotting their cocks together in a way that could only be described as perfect and causing them both to gasp.

            “Oh God, I’m so close,” Kurt moaned in his ear in that breathy way he always used to. And then it really hit Blaine; this wasn’t some stupid one night stand, this wasn’t a man—a  _body_  he’d never met. This was a fragile boy he’d met in sophomore year who was suffering his way through bullying, who was strong and talented and  _scared_  of what the world was throwing at him. This was the boy who broke up with him to follow his dreams without extra baggage because neither of them deserved that. This was the  _man_  who was now back in his arms after fighting to get him clean of his stupid addictions and make him feel like an actual person again because they were going to get through everything  _together_.

            Blaine’s fingers tightened as he bucked up once more and his orgasm washed over him. And judging by the noises and twitching movements coming from his boyfriend, Kurt was right behind him. He felt the weight of the other man collapse on his chest, heated breath washing over his collarbones. “I’m pretty sure that’s the fastest I’ve come since I was a teenager,” Blaine groaned, running his fingers through his hair.”

            “Well, that was... that was incredible.” Kurt’s hair had drooped out of its style, sticking to his forehead with sweat. He squeezed Blaine’s hand as he looked up at him from his place atop his chest.

            “Incredible doesn’t begin to describe it.” God, he just felt  _so good_. Their skin stuck together in weird places and they were so sweaty and gross but it felt amazing.

            “Let’s do that forever.”

            “Please. Yes.”

            Kurt rested his cheek back on Blaine’s chest, ear pressed over his heart. This was how things were supposed to be. “I love you,” Kurt murmured.  _Butterflies_. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing those words from that boy.

            “I love you, too.” Blaine’s stomach growled, sending them both into fits of giggles. Kurt rolled off the couch, scooping Blaine’s t-shirt from the floor and throwing it on himself before heading toward the kitchen. “Let’s make food.” He tossed a salacious grin over his shoulder. “And then round two.”    


	29. You're Gonna Get It Right Sometime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This one is finally on time! It's finally summer, yay! I'm only late because I'm a sad Canadian that's my late-summer excuse. So this fic is almost at a close (boo!) and I'm starting to feel the pain of its end already. Thank you all as always for reading and/or reviewing because it means the world to both me and my co-author. This song is How You See The World by Coldplay. Warnings for mentions of drugs/past attempted rape, being stair challenged, and Godzilla Berry.

_Are you missing something?_

_Looking for something?_

_Tired of everything?_

_Searching and struggling._

_Are you worried about it?_

_Do you wanna talk about it?_

_Oh, **you’re gonna get it right sometime**._

            Blaine woke up with Kurt’s arm wrapped snug around his waist, fingers splayed across the flat of his stomach with his hips snug against the curve of Blaine’s ass. He wanted this every day. He wanted to be able to wake up at whatever time he wanted and have his boyfriend’s body pressed along the line of his back. He wanted this forever. Blaine rolled in Kurt’s arms, snuggling in against his chest and feeling the other man smile.

            “You’re already awake,” Blaine murmured, leaning back slightly to crack open an eye. Kurt was watching him warmly, wet hair (since when?) flopped over his forehead with his post-shower-pink face.

            “I’ve been up for awhile. It’s about 11:30 and I took a shower and came back to watch you sleep.” Kurt brushed the backs of his fingers down the side of Blaine’s face, hand resting on his neck.

            “Creep.”

            “Your creep.” Blaine smiled, reaching up to press a quick kiss to Kurt’s nose and roll off the bed, all too aware of his nakedness. He headed toward the bathroom, biting his lower lip as he tried not to feel embarrassed.

            “If you’re up for a second shower, you can come and wash my hair.” He shot a look over his shoulder, cheeks heating up as Kurt’s eyes flashed to meet his from where he was obviously staring at Blaine’s ass.

            “Is that even a question you need to ask?” He practically leapt out of the bed, chasing Blaine down the hall to the bathroom.

 

            It was exactly 1:32PM when they stepped foot inside Vapiano’s; after the homeless man that stalked them across town they were thrilled to find it nearly empty for what must have been the first time ever.

           

             _“I don’t know what bowtie to pick.” Blaine was standing almost_ over _his dresser, as close to hanging off of it as possible without tearing out the drawers. Kurt was perched on the edge of his bed, already dressed in a light lavender v-neck and a simple pair of khakis, hair drawn up into its usual perfect coif and Blaine was_ struggling _. He wasn’t supposed to be the struggler._

_“Blaine, honey, you don’t need to go overboard. It’s not like this is an official date or something. We’re just going out because Vapiano’s sounds so appealing after having sex.” Kurt dropped back on his elbows, giving a drawn out sigh as he watched Blaine with a little smile._

_He was standing there half-sagging_ in  _the drawer of his dresser that housed his bowties in the royal blue skinny jeans he loved accompanied with his white belt, the fascinating cyan polo with white rimmed collar, and his black and medium grey saddle shoes. And for some_ God awful  _reason, he couldn’t find a bowtie that went with his outfit. “Just because it doesn’t have to look perfect, doesn’t mean I have to look like a mopey, miserable kid who doesn’t know how to dress himself.”_

_“You look like that right now crying about not being able to pick a bowtie.”_

_“Exactly, which is why you should help me.” Blaine twisted to give Kurt a pleading look over his shoulder, pushing out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout._

_“Fine,” Kurt groaned, pushing himself off the bed and moving to glance into Blaine’s drawer. “This one.” He chose so quickly that Blaine was sure he was going to get whiplash. It was white and black puzzle pieces. Kurt looped it around the back of Blaine’s neck, tucking it under his collar before tipping up Blaine’s chin with two of his fingers and starting the tie. “Because you’re my missing puzzle piece.”_

Blaine dropped in his seat across from Kurt after a worrying stair climb that nearly resulted in both of their deaths just because Blaine was a clumsy asshole who apparently didn’t know how to walk up steps without dying.

            “Last night was amazing,” Blaine mumbled around a mouthful of Caesar salad, almost positive there was dressing on his face  _somewhere_.

            Kurt just smiled down at his low-fat pasta, twisting the noodles around the tip of his fork with slightly creased eyebrows. “It was  _incredible_  and all because of you.”

            Blaine felt his face heat up, staring determinedly at his glass of Pepsi. “No, you,” he objected quietly.

            Kurt reached across the table, forcing Blaine to set down his cutlery as he clasped his fingers. “I love you.”

            Blaine sucked in a breath, eyes flicking up to rest on Kurt’s face as he grinned back at him. “I love you, too. I love you so much.” And he so did. He so,  _so_  did. Except he really had to go to the bathroom and he didn’t know why he didn’t notice until that very second because now he had to try and get back  _down_  the stairs. “And I would stay here and tell you how much I love you forever, but nature calls.” Kurt just snorted, taking back his hand and waving him away. Blaine almost slipped and threw himself down the stairs because apparently walking just wasn’t his thing today.

            The bathroom was also deserted, not like that was a surprise. It was nice to be able to do his business in peace for what must have been the first time in public since he moved to New York. Blaine washed his hands, leaning against the wall beside the door and pulling out his phone. He knew how much Kurt hated it when he checked it while they were eating so he figured he had the time to do it now. There was a missed call from his mother (he finally saved her number) and from Christian; which was confusing.

            Blaine hit the call key and it rang three times before his roommate finally answered. “Hey.”

            “Hi,” Christian returned. He sounded so exhausted. “I just wanted to call and tell you that I probably won’t be home for awhile.” He literally sounded like he would rather lobotomize himself than be awake another second.

            “I kind of realized that. Is everything okay with Rachel? I mean, I assume it is if you’re not home.”

            “I don’t know what you’d count as okay but if you mean she’s going on a small Godzilla rampage and probably plotting the destruction of the entire city of New York with just her inner rage, yeah, its fine.” Christian sighed, probably rubbing a hand over his face.

            “That sounds horrifying. So she’s pregnant? For real? Santana didn’t just fuck with her test?”

            “No, it’s real. The uh... the condom... broke.”

            “I’d give you a high-five for finally getting laid but maybe you shouldn’t have if this was the outcome. Did you check the date on it? Did you... lube it enough?” He felt ridiculous. He felt like he was a father preaching to his son the importance of a condom. But this was Christian; this was the man that had walked in on him having sex with another man enough times that Blaine lost count.

            “It should have been fine. The date was fine and the... motion... was smooth enough. I don’t know why it broke. I was careful and this is the reward I get.” There was a sniff across the line. God, this was his breaking point. “I was so careful because I didn’t want this to happen and now.... Blaine, I’m going to be a  _father_. I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I don’t even know if I’m ready to be committed to Rachel and this is making me have to and I’m really scared.” Christian was in no way a bad guy. He was sweet and kind and caring, but he also had his breaking point. He talked a lot about what he had planned for the future, rarely talked about girls and family and  _forever_. Rachel was his first partner in what must have been four years and this was what he was given as a reward. A fucking baby.

            “Hey, hey. Everything’s going to be okay. Rachel might seem crazy now, but she’ll settle; she’s a nice girl. I know it’s scary and I wish I could tell you that I know how it feels but we both know that I don’t. You’ll get there. Maybe you aren’t sure about things now but there will be a time when you know what you want out of all this. Do you know if she’s keeping it?”

            “I’m not really sure if she’s decided or not. All she does is yell and cry all day about how her career is ruined and then she tells me that she hates me for doing this to her and then she yells about stupid things like Santana not closing a cupboard. I don’t want her to hate me.” Christian gave a broken sob and Blaine’s heart  _ached_.

            “She won’t hate you. She’s just hyped up on hormones and stress which do not make a friendly concoction. Give her time and be there for her and try and push how you feel out of the mix for awhile because that will just make everything worse. I know it sucks and I know that it’s hard but you can do this because you’re so fucking strong. You dragged me in and looked after me and paid the rent and tried to help me get my piece of shit life back together even though I know that I’m not the easiest person to work with. You can do this.”

            There was another sniffle. “Thank you. I’m going to try.”

            “Christian, I love you, okay? You help so many people and this time, someone’s going to help you.”

 

            Blaine pushed his way out of the bathroom, slipping his phone back into his pocket and bounding back up the stairs. He was in there for what must have been pretty close to ten minutes meaning he needed to apologize to Kurt. “Hey—What’s wrong?” Blaine grabbed the back of Kurt’s seat, sliding to kneel on the floor beside him. He was shaking. Kurt jerked away from the brush of his arm on his shoulder so fast he almost slipped off his seat and fell to the floor. “Kurt, honey, please. What happened? What’s wrong?” Blaine held out his hand, slowly wrapping his other arm around the back of Kurt’s shoulders and trying to urge him closer. Something happened in the ten minutes that Blaine was in the bathroom and he didn’t know what and it was driving him insane. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They had a wonderful day yesterday and today was going to be just as good and then it was ruined.

            Kurt slowly let himself be pulled against Blaine’s chest, fingers clinging to his shirt. “Sweetheart, you’re trembling.” Shaking was definitely a better word because this was a lot more than little baby trembles. “Whatever it was, it’s over. I’m here now.” They sat there in silence; Kurt’s hands clasped into fists against Blaine’s chest, Blaine’s arms snug around Kurt’s frame.

            “He found me,” Kurt croaked out, voice cracking like broken glass and shattering into a million little shards that slowly ripped Blaine apart.

            “Who found you?” Whoever it was he was going to kill them. Kurt just shook his head. “Kurt, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what happened. Who hurt you?”

            His boyfriend seemed to shake even harder and Blaine felt the way his mouth opened and closed before he tried again. “Cecil.”    

  

            Blaine had wanted to both cry and scream at the same time because he wasn’t supposed to come back. He wasn’t supposed to be around to harass Kurt. Blaine paced the length of his living room, nails biting into his palms where his hands were curled into fists at his sides. He tried to convince Kurt to come home with him, to let Blaine wrap him up in a blanket and make him tea and watch a shitty romance movie with him until they both fell asleep on the couch but all the other man did was brush him off and insist that he needed to be alone for awhile.

            Blaine felt useless; completely and utterly useless. His roommate was dealing with a hell spawn of a pregnant girlfriend, his boyfriend was probably having a mental breakdown by himself, his mother wouldn’t return his calls so either her phone was dead (something that seemed to happen a lot because she forgot about it) or she was pointedly ignoring him, which was highly unlikely.

            Blaine pulled out his phone for what must have been the millionth time, turning on the screen and actually praying for a missed call from  _anybody_. He barely resisted the urge to throw it across the room when the lock screen remained blank. Blaine let out a frustrated noise, burying his fingers in his hair as he dropped his phone on the couch and sunk down beside it. He needed to do something before he went absolutely fucking insane.

            If Cecil found Kurt, he must have said something that scared him, right? Right. Because Kurt wasn’t a baby that would just start shuddering and crying because he  _saw_  him, no matter what he did. No, this asshole said something to him. Did he bring up the text? He might have; why else would Kurt shake like a leaf unless he was threatened his death?

            Blaine picked up his phone again, unlocking it and scrolling through his contacts until he hit the name he was looking for and opened up a message. He needed to do something. He needed to figure something out so that he could get off of his ass and make use of his time and put a stop to this asshole that was tormenting his fucking boyfriend.

             ** _It’s Kurt, I got a new phone._**

            Blaine stared at the words, finger hovering over the send key. Was that something that he would say? If Cecil brought up the text, Kurt obviously should have known about it but would have come across that he didn’t when it was brought up. Blaine added to it.

             ** _It’s Kurt, I got a new phone. I forgot about the text because I was trying to put it out of my mind. Sorry._**

Was that better? God, if Kurt got a new phone, he wouldn’t willingly give this asshole his number. But it was worth a shot. Blaine carefully hit  _Send_. Blaine rubbed his palms over his knees, trying to wipe the sweat from them as he waited for a response. Would he even get one? His question was answered when his phone vibrated.

             **well its a good thing that you remembered because you know what will happen if you tell anyone**

Blaine ground his teeth, sucking in a deep breath and trying to push his rage out; he had to keep it under control if he was going to take care of this.

             ** _Yes, I know. Do you think that we could maybe meet up somewhere to talk about this? I’ve been thinking about what you said at lunch._**

            That sounded reasonable, right? He obviously must have said  _something_.

             **i dont know what there is to talk about all i said was that you better watch your back but if you think that we need to discuss that then i dont see why we cant talk**

He threatened Kurt in public. He threatened his fucking  _life_  in  _public_.

             ** _I’ve just been thinking a lot about you after you left and I really think that talking would be good. Or ‘talking’ if you will. I feel like I missed out on a lot of what you could have given me if I didn’t run away that night. You just scared me._**

            Blaine was going to throw up. He was going to throw up and also put a hole in the wall because this was disgusting. He was coming onto this guy in Kurt’s name.

             **youve changed your tune a lot havent you? ill bring the stuff if youre interested in trying again i promise it feels really good once you actually get into it**

Blaine bit his lip so hard the metallic taste of his blood touched his tongue.

             ** _Definitely_.**

**do you know where the balto statue is in central park?**

Of course he knew where it was; Central Park was the part of New York that he spent most of his time in during his first year. He knew where almost everything was by memory. And if memory served him correctly, the Balto statue was surrounded by quite a bit of trees. Perfect.

             ** _Yes, of course. Can we meet there at 7PM?_**

            It needed to be dark enough that anybody outside wasn’t going to see Blaine beat the fucking living shit out of him.

             **yeah that sounds good see you then**

It was 3PM now, that gave Blaine about an hour and a half to be pissed off, and another two and a half hours of city navigation.

 

            By the time 6:30 came around, Blaine was running up the stairs out of the subway, nearly knocking over some poor man carrying about four different suitcases for God knows what reason. He bolted across the road in front of a taxi that screeched to a stop a good three inches from him followed by a vaguely Hispanic shout and what must have been a rude name. He got into the park and to the statue in what must have been under two minutes if the way he ran said anything.

            Cecil wasn’t there yet; good. Blaine slipped behind into the grass, backing up into one of the trees and dropping to sit in the dirt and wait. This guy was an idiot if he actually showed up thinking that Kurt was going to be there. Blaine was also kind of an idiot for assuming that he would.

 

            At 7:04 there were footsteps on the path. Their part of the park was also strangely abandoned today (probably for the best) and Blaine shifted into a crouch. He was a tall man; broad in the shoulders, with mahogany hair that sat sort of funny on top of his head. He was tanned lightly from what Blaine could tell under one of the street lights and when he turned to inch across the grass behind the statue, his eyes were blue. Part of Blaine knew that he didn’t stand a chance against a man easily a lot taller and stronger than him, but the other part, the part that was doing this for Kurt, knew that he was going to damn try.

            “Who the fuck are you?” He had a voice that already grated on Blaine’s nerves as he got up and strode out of the coverage of leaves.

            “Someone you’re really going to wish that you didn’t meet.” 


	30. Take a Chance and Don't Ever Look Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically the last chapter! Wow, this has been just about 8 months and it's finally over. There will be one more chapter that's just an epilogue. Thank you all so much for chasing us (Lexi and I) and our crazy ideas around. It's been one hell of an adventure. This song is Teenage Dream by Katy Perry. Warnings for mentions of past assault/drug use/child abuse, a fist fight, sappy romance, and two boys obsessed with each other.

_My heart stops,_

_When you look at me._

_Just one touch,_

_Now baby I believe._

_This is real,_

_So **take a chance and don’t ever look back** ,_

_Don’t ever look back._

 

            Cecil chuckled, face shadowed by the light behind his head. “Oh, please. You’re about the size of a jumbo shrimp. What the fuck do you want, anyways?”

            Blaine crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. “You’re the guy who tried to rape my boyfriend after you  _drugged_  him.”

            Cecil cocked an eyebrow as what must have been realization washed over his face. He took a step forward, the harsh back-lit glow of the lamp significantly less as he moved further around the back of the statue. “You’re the idiot who’s been texting me pretending to be Kurt,” he growled.  _Growled_. Blaine didn’t think that human beings could actually produce that noise. “And it wasn’t rape. He  _wanted_  it. He was practically begging for my huge cock.”

            Blaine tried to contain a shudder, closing his eyes briefly to get a hold of himself before looking back up at the man in front of him. He was easily over six feet tall. “If I’m an idiot, I’d hate to know what that makes you considering you’re the one who fell for it.” Blaine inched a step closer. He was not about to be stared down and shown up by this asshole who thought that he was tougher than him. “And I promise that he wasn’t begging for it if the way he acts now is any indication. You’re just too delusional to be able to get that through your thick fucking skull.” Blaine was digging himself a hole but he didn’t want to gather himself enough to make a plan to climb out when he was done. “And really? Your  _huge_  cock? Who are you trying to convince here? Me or yourself?”

            Cecil honest-to-God  _bared_  his teeth because apparently he was an animal. That explained a lot. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Do not fucking test me; I’m not above smashing your face in.”

            Honestly, Blaine didn’t doubt it. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do some pushing of his own. “Compensating with your scary words for what you lack in the bedroom.”

            Cecil took a step forward and Blaine barely held himself from backing up. He wasn’t going to step down. He wasn’t going to show weakness and run away with his tail between his legs. He was going to prove that he wasn’t some fucking  _jumbo shrimp_. The taller man’s face was so close to his own, breath hot against Blaine’s nose and smelling faintly of what must have been vodka. “I don’t remember Kurt ever saying he had a boyfriend. I’d be plenty embarrassed too if I was dating some fuck-up like you,” he spat. “Now back. Off.”

            “Oh ouch, you’ve mortally wounded me with your mean words. At least I don’t have to dope boys up on who-knows-what to get them to have sex with me.” Blaine pressed his index finger into Cecil’s sternum. “Unlike  _some_  people, apparently.”

            The other man swatted Blaine’s hand away. “This is your last fucking chance,” he snarled. “You won’t be laughing anymore when you’re lying face down in the dirt.”

            Blaine just smiled. “Try me.” Cecil drew his fist back almost painfully slow, a smirk peeling across his face as if he’d been waiting his entire life to punch Blaine in the face. His nose broke with a grotesque crunch and Blaine could feel every ridge of the other man’s knuckles. Why the  _fuck_  hadn’t he moved. Right, because he wanted to prove a point. He stumbled back, bringing a hand up to clutch at his nose as he felt the blood drip through his fingers. Cecil rubbed at his hand and that’s when Blaine dove, arms locking around his upper thighs in a successful rugby tackle he’d be a lot more pleased with if it were under different circumstances.

            The taller man hit the grass with a thump and a grunt, head falling back to smack against the dirt. Blaine moved to straddle Cecil’s waist, knees clamping against his ribs as the other man thrashed under him. A hand came up around Blaine’s throat and he swung, feeling the satisfying crack of  _something_  against his hand. Cecil cried out below him, shielding his face the best that he could. He couldn’t see; everything was hazing red around the edges and he just kept hitting, palms and fists colliding with whatever was within reach and ignoring the pained cries of the man below him. Blaine lost track of time.

            He rolled off Cecil, turning away and swiping the back of his hand over his nose.  _Fuck_. And then there was a wet chuckling behind him followed by a coughing wheeze. “Is that all you got?” Cecil spat into the grass, rolling onto his side and looking up at Blaine from swollen eyes as he turned back around. “I really hope Kurt’s proud of what you’re doing.” He had a split brow, probably a broken nose; something was up with his jaw that Blaine was surprised he even managed.

            Blaine turned back around, driving the toe of his shoe up into the other man’s ribs and drawing out a wheezing cry.

 

            His head was literally a drum. Blaine stumbled out of the park, one hand pressed against the back of his head and the other digging in his pocket for his cell phone. The screen was blurry and that was either because there was something on it or he couldn’t see. He chose the latter. Blaine flicked through his contacts, praying that the one he called was who he was aiming for.

            “Hello?” As Christian’s voice rang through the speaker, he realized he was right.

            “I need you to come and get me,” Blaine half-whispered, primarily to keep his ringing head down to a minimum.

            “Blaine, it’s like 8 o’clock or something,” Christian hissed.

            “Oh, my bad, are you an old grandma settled into her rocking chair to knit for the rest of the night?” he growled back. “I need you to come and pick me up, please.” Blaine pressed his fingers under his nose, pulling them away and glaring at the blood that came with them. “I think I need to go to the hospital.”

            “Dammit, Blaine!” He heard something clatter to the floor and then a mumbled apology to someone followed by rushed footsteps against hardwood. “What the fuck did you do, now?” There was the jingle of keys and a slamming door.

            “I might have gotten into a fight, but who knows.” Blaine dropped down on the curb, crossing his legs and tugging up the hood on his sweater. It would be just his luck that someone would decide to give a damn about him right now.

            “You’re such a fucking moron!”

            “Yeah, so I’ve gathered. Just come get me.” Blaine forwarded his GPS location to his friend, not caring enough to figure out where he was.

 

            When the car pulled up to the curb, Christian looked  _pissed_. Or maybe it was more than pissed. Either way, Blaine didn’t think he’d ever seen him that upset.

            “Why the  _hell_  did you get in a fight? And with who?” he spat when Blaine half-dragged himself in the door.

            “Some fucking asshole drugged my boyfriend and tried to rape him, I had every right to do something about it.” The shorter man let his head thump against the window, squeezing his eyes shut and regretting it immediately.

            “What the fuck am I supposed to tell the receptionist? He got in a fight with someone probably twice his size but don’t worry, the other guy looks worse.” The car screeched as Christian basically  _yanked_  it away from the curb.

            “He does look worse,” Blaine mumbled. “I don’t know, tell them I fell down the stairs.”

            “You’re such an idiot,” Christian sniffed. When Blaine looked over, he was crying. “You scared the hell out of me. You could have gotten yourself killed, you stupid fucking asshole!” His friend’s hands tightened around the wheel until his knuckles were white.

            “I’m sorry.”

 

            Blaine always hated hospitals.  It didn’t matter where they were or how colourful they got, he hated them. It probably started when he was six and Cooper had to get stitches. His parents were too focussed on his brother that Blaine ended up making an escape and was lost wandering the blank, empty halls for what felt like forever. His feeling of hatred was heightened when he was in a coma.

            Blaine sank down in one of the waiting room chairs, staring resolutely at his feet while Christian talked to the nurse over the receptionist desk. He was probably going to have to get his nose re-set which was going to hurt like God knows what. He was also going to need stitches. Blaine didn’t want to move to look at the mirror; didn’t want to see what he looked like.

 

            Blaine was sitting on the edge of his cot, glaring at his pile of folded clothes on one of the seats. Hospital gowns were stupid. His entire face ached; every time he moved something twinged and he debated that taking off his whole head would hurt a lot less.

            The nurse was out looking for pain medicine (he hoped) because she forgot to change the IV bag because she was also a fucking idiot. After messing up the stitches in his eyebrow, Blaine didn’t think she could get any worse. He was wrong. Blaine was picking at the edge of the gown when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He was ready to tear a fucking strip off the next person to come in his room.

            “You’re okay.” Blaine’s eyes flashed up from his lap because that was not the voice he expected. Kurt was standing in the doorway in a pair of sweatpants and a coat he didn’t even think was on the right way. And he was crying, fingers gripping the doorframe so tightly that Blaine was sure they were frozen there.

            Confusion tried to draw his eyebrows together but instead just made him wince. “Kurt, what are you doing here?” His voice sounded like shit, like someone was being dragged over a nail bed.

            His boyfriend laughed a high noise that was almost maniacal. “What the fuck do you mean what am  _I_  doing here? Christian fucking called me!” Blaine grimaced at the level of his voice, chewing the inside of his cheek as his head throbbed. “Do you even realize how scared I was? I thought you’d tried to  _off_  yourself or something again! Fuck, Blaine, you fucking idiot!”

            Blaine lost count of the amount of times he’d heard that just tonight alone. “Can you keep your voice down before your yelling splits my fucking head in half?” he hissed. Kurt didn’t believe him. He never believed him. He really believed that he wasn’t ever going to change. “I told you I was going to try and be better for you. I  _told_  you! Did you really not believe me?” He didn’t. “Did you really think that I would try and do that again when I promised you  _and_  myself that I would be a better person?” He did. Blaine twisted his hands together, glaring down at the tile between them. “I get that I’m an idiot, I’ve been told it enough times that I don’t need you to reiterate.”

            Blaine could see Kurt shaking his head in his peripheral. This was where it ended. “I’m done.”  _Done._  The word stabbed through his head like a knife and all Blaine could do was watch the floor. “Blaine, I am so done with your pity-party.” Was that really what he thought this was? Did he really think that Blaine was trying to guilt him into something? “Of course I didn’t believe you!” Another knife. “How could I after everything you’ve put me through? I can’t keep dealing with this! I can’t be fucking terrified every time I receive a phone call. I can’t, Blaine. I can’t. I need to be able to trust you and know that when you end up in the hospital, it’s not because you’ve gone and hurt yourself again! What the fuck did you do this time, anyways?”  _This time_. “Please tell me you didn’t get into some stupid bar fight because I will come over there and break your fucking nose again.”

            He could be trusted. He  _could_. “You  _can_  trust me, you’re just refusing to try!” And it was true; this wasn’t just Blaine’s fault. “I haven’t hurt myself since I was in the hospital; I haven’t gotten  _high_  because I wanted to be able to pull through my problems for  _you_  and you’re standing here saying that you can’t trust me when I’m trying so fucking hard to give up what I’ve been doing the past  _four years_  to be a better person for you!”

            “Look me in the eyes and tell me that you would be able to trust me if I was in your position.” Blaine kept his eyes locked on Kurt’s feet. “Look me in my fucking eyes!” he cried. “You don’t get it. I love you and that’s exactly why I can’t trust you. Anybody else would leave—“ Kurt broke off his sentence, giving a feeble sniff and rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I’m so exhausted, Blaine, don’t you understand? I’ve been trying to change for you, too and I’m so tired.”

            “Anybody else would leave me, I get it. I’m a  _fucking idiot_.”

            “Stop it! Stop degrading yourself! Didn’t you hear me, you dumbass? I know you’re a fucking idiot and I still love you.” Kurt sunk down in one of the chairs and Blaine’s eyes followed him as he threaded his fingers into hair Blaine didn’t realize was wet. “That won’t ever be enough, will it? My love for you won’t be enough.”

            “I never said that.” Blaine lifted his gaze to rest on Kurt’s face.

            “You didn’t have to.”

            “Well it’s not true.”

            “What do I have to do? What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m not going anywhere, that I’m here to stay? I’ve seen you at your lowest and your highest and fuck, Blaine, it only makes me love you more.”   

            “Maybe I’m scared to trust you, too! The first time I wasn’t strong enough for you, you  _left_. You left me behind because I was too scared to turn in my fucking father for hitting me. Who’s to say that I’m not going to have another shitty low like that? Who’s to say that you won’t leave, then?” He was so close to breaking down. The pressure behind his eyes swelled up and his head felt like it was going to explode. They were supposed to be okay.

            “See? This is what I’m talking about. You won’t let that go. That was four years ago, Blaine,  _four years_  and you still bring it up every time. I’m done. I’m done with trying to defend myself and done with trying to prove something, which you obviously don’t believe exists. You were into  _drugs_ , you had sex with strangers every night and the first time I saw you, you were so drunk out of your mind that you couldn’t even recognize me. And you have the audacity to say  _you_  can’t trust  _me_?”

            “I’m allowed to be scared, too, Kurt! I’m a fucking human being; I make mistakes, I fuck myself up, I ruin my own life one second at a time and I. Am. Scared! Are you saying that you’re allowed to be worried what I’m going to do but I’m not allowed to be worried about what you might? I’m not fucking invincible!”

            “I’m not either. I can’t deal with this forever.”

            “Oh but I can? I can just go on forever fucking up my own life? I  _love_  you, you absolute moron. Why else would I be in here right now if it wasn’t for that fucking asshole Ce—“ Blaine broke off, eyes dropping back onto the tile and rubbing his hands together.  _Fuck_.

            “What? What did you—please tell me you didn't. Blaine, please tell me he did not do this to you.” Blaine just kept his gaze on the bleached floor, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through his hair. “If you don’t tell me the truth, I’m leaving. Blaine, I will walk out of that damn door and hunt down Cecil myself.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Blaine. What. The fuck. Did he do to you?”

            “He looks worse,” Blaine mumbled.

            “He must’ve followed you home from Vapiano’s. I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. I should’ve gotten him arrested or something, I’m so sorry.”

            “No, not exactly. It’s not your fault; it’s mine. As per usual.”

            “What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”

            “I might have texted him and organized a little... meeting....”

            Kurt stood up and Blaine wanted to cry. This was the end. “No. You wouldn’t do that. No. You’re not that—you’re not that stupid.”

            “Apparently I’ve become more stupid because yeah, I did."

            “Why? Just...why?”

            “I wanted to....” Blaine swallowed, looking back up at Kurt. "I wanted to protect you. I saw what he did to you at Vapiano’s and I needed to do something. I couldn’t just sit around and wait."

            “I can protect myself. Do you really think going out and getting yourself beat up was going to make a difference? Fuck, Blaine, now he’s probably even more furious.”

            “You sure didn’t look like you could protect yourself when you were having panic attacks over his name.” Kurt flinched, pulling his knees up to his chest as he fell back into the chair. Blaine instantly felt like shit. “Like I said, he’s worse off than I am.”

            “Whatever. You’re right. You win. I hope you’re happy.” Kurt’s voice was so empty and lifeless and  _alone_.

            “I was just trying to help....”

            “I know.”

            “I’m sorry, Kurt.”

            “Me too,” Kurt sighed. "What we’re doing...what we’re trying to make happen...it’s not healthy, Blaine. It’s just not.” He slipped out of his chair and the whole world came crashing down. No, no, no, no,  _no_!

            "We can fix this. We can," he insisted. 

            Kurt turned toward the door, making his way across the room. "I don't think we can."

            “We can! We can fix this! We can make this work!” Blaine stumbled off the cot, head spinning as he tried to keep his balance.

            “I’m sorry,” Kurt whispered, shaking his head as he strode towards the door.

            “Kurt! Don't go, please don’t go. Please! I  _need_  you!” Blaine slipped, knees colliding with the tile as he caught himself on his palms and the tears poured over, dripping to the floor between his hands. “ _Before you met me, I was alright but things were kind of heavy. You brought me to life now every February, you’ll be my valentine, Valentine_ ,” he croaked out, pushing himself up onto his knees as he stared at the now empty doorway. Kurt was still there. He had to be; he could  _feel_  it. “ _Let’s go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love. We can dance until we die. You and I will be young forever_.” Blaine sucked in a breath, bracing his hands on his thighs and trying to get himself under control because he  _needed_  him. He needed Kurt more than he needed air. “ _You make me feel like I’m living a teenage dream. The way you turn me on, I can’t sleep. Let’s run away and don’t ever look back. Don’t ever look back_.” One of Kurt’s hands wrapped around the edge of the wall as he slowly came back into the room, pausing and watching. Blaine looked up at him. “ _My heart stops when you look at me. Just one touch, now baby I believe this is real. So take a chance and don’t ever look back. Don’t ever look back_.”

            Kurt smiled, running the back of his hand over his cheeks and pushing away the tears. “ _We drove to Cali and got drunk on the beach_ ,” he continued. “ _Got a motel and built a fort out of sheets. I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece. I’m complete_.” He strode across the space between them, sliding to his knees as his fingers found Blaine’s jaw. “ _Let’s go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love. We can dance until we die. You and I will be young forever. You make me feel like I’m living a teenage dream. The way you turn me on, I can’t sleep. Let’s run away and don’t ever look back. Don’t ever look back_.”

            Blaine leaned up, pressing their lips together. And it wasn’t perfect. They were both crying too much, Blaine’s head hurt a little too much. His lips were cracked and sore and everywhere Kurt’s fingers touched seemed to ache but that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because it was them and they were together and they were going to figure everything out  _together_. The way things were always supposed to be. They were going to learn to trust each other, they were going to fight again, they were going to worry and yell and cry and kiss and hurt each other but everything was going to be okay.

            And maybe if he repeated it enough times, he’d believe. 


End file.
